Please Say Something
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: COMPLETE The Ministry of Magic wants Harry Potter dead. He goes to exotic lengths to avoid this fate. CROSSOVER SLASH FEMSLASH Jacob/Harry Leah/Luna
1. Chapter 1

Note: I guess I can't escape the sticky grasp of twilight/harry potter yet. I really tried to move on, but Jacob demanded more attention.

Disclaimer: I make no profit from this. Rights to Twilight go to Stephanie Meyers, and Harry Potter is owned by JKR. Some influence is taken from 'Youth in Revolt', which belongs to C.D. Payne.

~Please Say Something~

Chapter One

It was a beautiful day. The sun was out, and there were even a few late birds left to twitter amidst the frost-glittering landscape. The grass was brown, the trees were brown, and his shoes were brown.

There was red seeping out from below them, trickling so warmly down the backs of his calves that he wouldn't have believed he was bleeding if he wasn't watching the evidence feed the earth. It spread out, tinting the frost-tipped grass pink.

He raised his eyes, meeting Tom's. Tom's eyes weren't brown. They were red, thin slits set into his handsome face.

Harry felt nothing as he watched him fall backward. It wasn't supposed to end this way. Hell, it wasn't supposed to start the way it did either, but this war seemed to have a mind of its own. Except…except that it couldn't be over until they were all gone; there were still the members of the Inner Circle. Just a few hours ago, they probably thought that they were immortal.

His lips twitched, and he turned to wink lazily at the silent Aurors before he disappeared. Let them think what they wanted. It wasn't any concern of theirs if he decided to stab a man who looked just like an ordinary human except for his eyes in the middle of a public park. It was a nice day, just the kind of day that wars should end on.

000

"You are accused of eighteen accounts of cold-blooded murder, three accounts of arson, one account of underage drinking, treason against the Ministry, plotting to kill several hundred more persons in an explosion, consorting with convicts, assisting in the murder of Albus Dumbledore, and several other assorted terrorist actions."

The voice echoed nicely. Harry decided to focus on the echo and not the fact that he was currently chained to a chair in the middle of the Ministry's largest hearing hall. It was the largest so that they could fit the press and their flashing cameras, the large crowd of wealthy persons that'd paid good money for the honor of telling their grandchildren that they were at the hearing of Harry Potter, and the numerous political figures who decided to show up.

He scratched his thigh idly, wondering if he would have brown mush or gray mush for lunch today when he was stashed back in his holding cell.

He'd ended the war. The cold-blooded murder was necessary. The Ministry never would've been able to get around the legal loopholes to convict the Inner Circle, so he killed them himself. Tom was ridiculously easy. He was only a smidgeon away from becoming truly immortal when Harry killed him. If he hadn't struck when he did, in a public park be damned, they would be under an eternal reign of terror instead of accusing him of everything they could. As they used to say in America, if you want something done right, do it yourself.

Unfortunately, Voldemort had regained his youthful appearance of Tom Riddle, and was carrying fake Muggle identification cards when he killed him. As such, the results of his heroism looked rather bad.

The magical world still refused to believe that Voldemort was gone, to add insult to injury.

"…we hereby sentence him to the Dementor's Kiss."

Oh, shit. He should've paid more attention. The room went freezing, and he stiffened as the first phantom cries of his mother started ringing through his ears.

No. it wasn't ending this way. It couldn't. He'd spent his whole life escaping death, and he'd be damned before he rolled over and let some Ministry stuffed-shirt condemn him to soulless misery.

His fists clenched, and the chair he was chained to started to wobble. The decorative windows bent outwards, pushed back by the waves of fury rolling off of him. The glass shattered, and the floor shook.

People were screaming now, but he wasn't paying attention. All he could think about was how he wasn't going to die this way.

000

End chapter 1

Let me know what you guys think! This is supposed to be funny later. It just starts off with the nastiness.


	2. Chapter 2

NOTE: I am going out of town 12/9/09 and won't be back until possibly early January. I won't have regular internet access while I'm away, which means that all of my projects will be suspended until I return.

Oh my god…I posted this tiny thing on a whim, and woke up to a phenomenal response from readers! You guys are crazy! (But I like it)

Chapter Two

The dome above his head, painted in lurid colors depicting previous Ministers and judges, bent upwards and exploded outwards, like a desert flower blooming. His chair wrenched itself out of its iron holds and swept upwards. He could feel the Dementor following, and a clawed hand grabbed his ankle. The chair halted its upward flight and wobbled.

"No!"

He was pulled inexorably downwards, the hand (if it could be called that) moving up his lacerated calf. It gripped his hip through his flimsy prisoner's robes, and he felt his organs shift around inside of him, trying to move their warmth as far from that hand as possible. Lily screamed, and he started seeing green flashes in the corners of his eyes as his eyes went to tunnel vision. He didn't have much time before he would pass out from the pressure.

Clenching his hands as tight as he could around the arms of the chair, he squeezed. The wood started to splinter, first in little shavings and then large slivers. They cracked and popped, raining down on the Dementor. It didn't seem to mind, and hoisted itself onto the back of the chair. Without it actively pulling him downwards any longer, he let out a fresh burst of magic that propelled him up and out of the dome.

Terrified wizards scattered when he landed in their floor of the Ministry, and the Dementor released him to pursue a shady-looking man who was making a run for the doors. Harry hazily remembered hearing that criminals who were pardoned just before being killed by Dementor's had to be very careful, because a Dementor would continue to pursue you even after your pardon.

His vision cleared as his mother's voice faded away. Groggy and still throbbing painfully in his joints from his unprecedented display of wandless magic, he stood with the assistance of a nearby overturned desk.

Someone squeaked fearfully, and he sent a glare in their direction. Someone whispered his identity, and suddenly everyone looked very busy.

Confused, he started for the door. No one tried to stop him. Just as he was about to leave, an older witch whispered to him, "None of us believe that you did anything wrong, honey. You were perfectly right to kill those murdering Death Eaters."

He grimaced, trying to smile, and nodded, "Thank you, ma'am. That means a lot. I just wish the Aurors felt the same way."

"We'll divert them if they ask," a much younger witch, possibly an intern, piped up, "You don't deserve to die."

"Cheers."

He crept out of their office, checked the hall and saw Aurors emerging from the elevator. He cursed and dashed to the stairs, reaching them just in time. They burst into the office he'd been in just seconds before, and the ladies inside shrieked. Shaking his head, he ran down the stairs. He almost bowled over an elderly man who was climbing the stairs at a glacial pace.

Apologizing, he grabbed his arm and supported him up the remaining three flights of stairs.

"Thank you, young man! Most young people these days wouldn't have bothered to stop, much less help me up!"

Harry smiled, feeling a little awkward, "You have a nice day, sir."

"Thank you! You too!"

He jumped over the railing and landed two floors below. He repeated the process until he realized where he was. Three months ago, when the news got out that Fenrir Greyback was working with Voldemort, all Werewolves were rounded up and stored inside the Ministry 'for safekeeping'. No one seemed to care about the rights violations, consoling themselves with the thought that since they were werewolves, and therefore packing them together like sardines wasn't technically a violation of human rights.

This was the floor that they were kept on. He stepped over to the door, placed his fingertips on it, and pushed. Instead of resisting like he was expecting, it swung inwards easily on well-oiled hinges. A cheery waiting area with chintz sofas and a receptionist greeted his eyes.

The man behind the desk looked up, and flinched when he saw Harry's prisoner robes. Harry leapt forward before he could push the alarm button, and tackled him to the carpet. It had a red geometric pattern.

The man's face turned red as Harry tightened his hands around his neck. He loosened his grip when his eyes rolled back, spreading his legs so that he could have more room to breathe as he crouched over him.

Panting, he tried to speak. Words wouldn't come out, so he waited until he'd caught his breath before whispering, "What is the password?"

The man shook his head, "I'm not telling you, you psycho!"

Harry returned his hands to his neck and started squeezing again. The man gripped his wrists and tried to pull him off. Harry waited until he was flopping around like a beached fish before he let up again.

"Well?"

"It's….its…" he wheezed, "Its 'fanged and furry'."

Harry frowned, "Seriously?"

"Seriously; you're strangling me…would I lie to you?"

Harry didn't respond to that, although he did kick him in the side when he walked around him to the padlocked door. He could feel the crackle of the wards in his nerves, making his hair stand slightly on end.

"Fanged and furry," he said with a dour look. The door unlocked itself and opened inwards. He was greeted with the very animal smell of human excrement and moist animal fur. Bracing himself, he entered and turned on the lights. There was a collective gasp as the werewolves were startled by the sudden light.

Rows of barred enclosures continued endlessly in front of him, one long hall of misery. The nearest werewolves looked at him with interest, and he saw that some of them were playing a kind of game with stacks of straws shaped into pyramids. He nodded to them.

"Good afternoon."

They looked at each other silently, obviously confused. He ignored them in favor of looking at the nametags against the walls. They were alphabetized. He walked down until he found 'Lupin, Remus' and peeked through the bars. Remus had a beard, and was dressed in the same ragged brown sack as the rest of the werewolves. It didn't quite cover him, and Harry wondered if there was a support group for young men forced to see their parent's friend's balls.

"Remus."

He didn't respond.

"Remus."

He could do this all day.

"Remus!"

Or not.

Remus twitched and then shot upright, smacking his head against the water bowl set into the wall. Harry felt a little sick to his stomach when he realized that it was the same kind of water bowl you could buy at pet stores for your pet dog. He sniffed it, and caught a whiff of something funny. They were drugging him. All of the strongest or educated werewolves were drugged to prevent them from escaping.

"Remus?"

"Harry?" Remus sounded awful, like he'd swallowed sandpaper; "Oh my god, you have to get out of here!" he seemed to notice the prisoner's robes. Harry flicked them with a smirk.

"I'm way ahead of you. Come on, let's get you out of here," he tapped the 'open' button and entered the cage to help him to his feet. Remus had some self-inflicted slashes along his forearms that were ringed with yellow puss. He was infected.

He propped Remus against the wall outside his cage and took a look at the faces around him. Most of the werewolves were watching him, standing by the bars to their cages. He had never seen a more pitiful sight; human dignity stolen and crushed beyond belief.

Decision made, he sprinted to the very end of the hall, all the way down to Zumhagen, and pressed the 'open' button. The werewolf inside looked at him stupidly, not understanding his freedom. Harry smacked his cheek lightly.

"Come on; get moving before somebody comes in here! Open the others as you go!"

He nodded, crushed Harry in a grateful hug, and made a run for it. His hand snapped out and pressed quite a few buttons as he went. Harry got to work on the ones he missed, and set the freed werewolves to do what he couldn't at the front. Remus looked more awake when Harry returned to his side, and they escaped in a pack of sprinting werewolves.

They moved as one down the staircases, several thousand pairs of feet of both genders and even some children pounding on the old stone steps. Aurors surprised them at the foot of the stairs, and they stunned eight werewolves before they were overpowered and unarmed. They carried their unconscious comrades on their shoulders to the Floo, which Harry activated for them. They ushered him through first, gratitude shining in their dirty faces. He saluted them and yelled out the coordinates for Istanbul, posted on the large-print sign hung on the wall.

The green flames consumed them, and he held tightly onto Remus as they swept past hundreds of fireplaces, some of them traditional and others mere fire pits in the middle of huts or tents.

They emerged in a hot, crowded place. He barely acknowledged the effusive attendant who received them and ushered them off of the Floo platform. He caught his breath while leaning against a stone wall, Remus groggily leaning against his shoulder. He squeezed his hand, and Remus muttered his name.

Exiting the Istanbul Floo, they found an open-air market waiting for them outside. It was packed with woman and screaming children. The sun beat down on them through the flimsy fabric coverings braced between the buildings flanking the market.

Several women spotted them and stared at them, probably surprised to find such strange tourists in their market. Harry draped Remus' arm around his shoulders and hobbled through the stalls until he found a large crowd surrounding a clothing tent. He snuck around the back, stripped, and pilfered a set of plain robes. They were made of breathable cotton, and felt cool compared to his nasty woolen prisoner's garb. He found a larger set for Remus and dressed him.

Suitably disguised, he harassed several locals for directions to the nearest tourist hostel. They were scared of his drugged companion and his crazed eyes, and didn't try to ask payment for their information. When they rested against a wall while on their way to lodgings, a woman handed them some money.

Apparently they looked like beggars as well as madmen.

The hostel was a converted bank, and the outline of where they'd plastered over the wall where the vault used to be was lumpy and rather obvious. He handed over their meager stash of money and demanded to know how long they could stay.

The man looked at their paltry offering, sneered, and replied, "Ten minutes."

Harry frowned, and the man swallowed.

"Ah, forgive me. I meant a week. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you!" his voice steadily climbed in pitch, and he shoved the room key into his hand with rather more enthusiasm than was required.

Harry scowled for good measure and headed for the elevator. They were on the second floor.

Their room was barely large enough for the double bed crammed against the wall, but it was a room and Harry was exhausted. He turned on the rusty air conditioner and laid Remus on the bed.

It would have to do for now until he could find a better hiding place.

000

End chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

Note: *prods readers* I wrote a normal Twilight one-shot called 'Rejection'. Please read it! It's lonely!

Chapter Three

Remus didn't wake up until almost noon the following day. Harry was afraid to leave him for fear that the Aurors would find their room and raid them during the few seconds he was away. He'd already lost so many people; he didn't want to lose any more. When he noticed how thin and chapped Remus' skin was, he realized that he must be dehydrated.

He got tired as the sun climbed into the sky and he became weak with hunger. He hadn't eaten properly in weeks, and these things always catch up to us at the most unfortunate of times. He got back into the bed and arranged himself so that he was facing Remus, in case he woke up before he fell asleep.

The reflected sunlight illuminated the thin purpled scar across Remus' lips that gave one side of his face a 'clown smile'. It was the scar he got the night Tonks was overpowered and killed. She bled to death just inches from them, but none of them could get to her.

He shuddered at the thought of what that had to have been like for Remus, his fingers shakily touching the line. So many wizards and witches died in the war that he wondered if their ever-shrinking population would ever recover from the blow.

It wasn't like he could contribute any of his own, all things considered. He frowned, thinking it over. He wasn't against donating sperm, but it still seemed a bit manky to him. The whole idea of shooting things up an unknown woman's vaginal passage was very unnerving. It seemed so…cold.

Remus opened his eyes just as the clock ticked into the position for 11:45.

They eyed one another, and Harry noticed that Remus didn't look like he'd been smoking marijuana anymore. He wordlessly reached over the side of the bed for the water jug and poured him some water. Remus sucked it in gratefully, and then held up the cup for more. Once he'd satisfied his thirst, he asked,

"Why are we in bed together?"

Harry wrinkled his nose, "You don't remember any of it?"

"Never answer a question with a question, Harry. That's very rude. Only ancient Greek philosophers can get away with that sort of thing. It requires a sort of ancient flair that you are quite lacking."

Harry kicked him in the shin under the covers. Remus choked and then laughed, reaching down under the covers to protect his injured leg with his palms.

"Alright, alright, I was only trying to lighten the mood. I've been so depressed for so long…god, Harry, it's been months since I've seen the sun. I'm so happy I could sing."

"Please don't," he joked. He suddenly picked up on something. Harry's eyes narrowed, "Months? Remus, you were in the internment camp for almost three years."

Remus' mouth worked, "What?"

He propped himself up on his elbow, the seriousness of the situation demanding better posture, "What kind of drugs did they give you? Do you know?"

Remus shook his head, "No, but at the beginning I made sure to observe the process very carefully. It's quite clever of them, really. It's timed so that you'll die of dehydration before you can get off of its effects."

Harry winced in sympathy, "That sounds awful. How are you so lucid now?"

"You have lucky timing. You caught me on the tail-end of my latest attempt to outlast the drugs. Granted, everything still looks like neo-cubism, but I can understand what you're saying and sort of process where we are."

"We're in bed," Harry teased. Remus yanked his hair.

"I gathered that, twat. Where is this bed, though?"

"We're in Istanbul until I can think of somewhere better. I'm thinking Latin America."

"Why are we in Istanbul? Wouldn't Siberia have been a better choice? You know the Ministry hates the Russians."

Harry nodded, "I know, but Istanbul was the first thing I saw, and I panicked."

"Oh, well, that's alright. You're only…how old are you, Harry?"

"Twenty."

"Damn, you've grown up fast."

He squeezed his bony shoulder, "Don't worry about it. They wouldn't have let you raise me no matter what you tried. They're just prejudiced assholes. There's nothing wrong with being a werewolf, do you hear me?

Remus sighed and nodded, "Is there any food in here?"

000

Over the next two months, they skipped from country to continent, taking care to never spend more than a week in each country. They had a few close brushes with the Aurors during their first week on the run, but they escaped each time and learned from their mistakes. They learned to never use their magic, because it was the fastest way to track them. They also learned where to get their fake regularly changed.

To conceal their appearance, Harry dyed his hair blonde and bleached his eyebrows. Remus wore a fishing hat and tracksuit. Remus looked considerably better than Harry in his disguise.

They were staying in a hotel somewhere in India when it happened.

To celebrate their two-month anniversary as free men, they'd gotten a little bit sloshed over dinner. It helped the spicy food go down easier for Remus, who was sensitive to overly-spiced food. They had a very pleasant dinner, and he had to help him up the stairs to the room they were staying in.

So used to sharing beds, neither of them cared that the other was a snuggly drunk, and they were soon a laughing mess on the bed. Harry got in without taking off his shoes, and Remus kept trying to help him but couldn't make his fingers work properly.

He went to sleep still wearing them, and Remus followed soon after.

Several hours later, in the very early hours of the morning, his bladder woke him.

"Ah, shit…at least I didn't piss myself…" he stumbled over his half-untied shoe laces and smacked his cheek on the radiator, "Fuck! Ow!"

He cast a Lumos without thinking to inspect the damage. He was too drunk to notice his mistake, and wandered into the bathroom to empty his bladder without giving the incident any more thought than how he was going to handle having half his face a bruised, throbbing mess tomorrow.

He decided to take a long, cold shower to help him wake up because it was almost seven now.

Twenty minutes later, Aurors streamed into their room just as he turned off the shower.

He heard Remus shout, and felt sick to his stomach when he heard it end abruptly with a wet sound. And then the sounds of the Aurors searching the room processed, and he grabbed his clothes.

Climbing out the window, he crawled along the rooftops, trying to get as far away as possible. Hot tears streamed out of the corners of his eyes as his body tried to mourn Remus and yet preserve his life at the same time.

He was alone again.

000

End chapter 3

This is a half-update. I know it's short.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Pulling his clothes on in a dark alley, Harry considered his options. He could go solo, but he didn't want to spend his life running. Not to mention that he was officially almost out of money, which meant sleeping in the streets with the pick-pocketing urchin children and drunks once he exhausted his funds. He wanted to settle down somewhere, but until he could work something out he needed somewhere to stay.

A plane flew overhead, and he knew where he was going. Hiding in plain sight always was one of his favorites.

000

It was raining when he landed in Denmark, but he didn't have enough money to buy himself a cup of tea, much less a taxi fare. He thought about begging, but decided that he didn't want to get arrested.

Walking along the side of the road, he spent three hours in the rain before he flagged down a small delivery truck.

"Where to, lad?"

"Longbottom Greenhouses, please."

They didn't speak to each other after that. Late-night radio filled the silence, peppy-sounding announcers advertising tapioca and home-exercise equipment. Harry picked at his nails and looked out the window.

After Ron died, Hermione sort of imploded into herself. She didn't speak to anyone for several months, and they'd started putting monitoring charms in her flat to make sure that she didn't kill herself. He couldn't imagine what she was feeling. There had always been so much silence and confusion between his two best friends, but when they finally admitted their feelings, he'd thought that everything would be fine. He'd never seen either of them happier in their lives during the two short months they had together.

Somehow, having experienced the joy of being with Ron only to have it torn away had shattered Hermione's naïve view of the world. She came to terms with life without him eventually, and while Harry was away fighting Dementors, Neville helped draw her back out herself. They lived together, last he'd heard, in Neville's greenhouses.

After killing Bellatrix Lestrange, Neville took a back-seat stance on the war. He helped raise money and organize support, but he no longer fought on the front lines. Being a peaceful person by nature, Harry understood and didn't protest his withdrawal.

The truck pulled around the curve of a hill, and he saw the twinkling lights of Neville's greenhouses in the distance. He got out of the truck, thanked the driver, and headed down the sloped lawn towards them.

The truck sped off, leaving him alone with the wind in the trees and the soft rustling sounds of night-time creatures. A field mouse scampered across his foot. He looked up and saw the sky, broad and starry, above. It was a clear, moonless night.

He walked up the path to the door and rang the bell. Sure, it was the middle of the night, but he wasn't going to break in like a burglar and scare the life out of Hermione come tomorrow morning.

It opened a few minutes later, and Hermione opened her mouth to ask what he wanted. She dropped her book, covering her mouth.

"Oh my god…! Harry?" without giving him a chance to answer, she seized his arm and pulled him inside, locking the door behind her. She ushered him through the entry-way into a nice little sitting room.

He sat and waited for her to get her senses together. She sank down heavily beside him.

"I thought you were dead by now. They've said that you were dead, but Neville found out about the man-hunt through some Ministry contacts," she said hoarsely after several moments of heavy silence.

He shrugged, "Well, I'm not. Dead, that is. I can imagine why the Ministry wouldn't want it to get out that I'm alive and kicking…"

"Yeah, they've really demonized you, especially for freeing the werewolves. I wish I could wring Rita Skeeter's neck."

"You and me both," he sighed, relaxing against the comfortable sofa, "Either way, can I hide out here for a little while? Not permanently, of course, but just until I find a secure hiding place to settle down for good."

"Of course, Harry," she squeezed his knee, eyes misty, "it'll be like the old days."

000

In the end, after evaluating broom closets and the basement, taking care not to wake Neville, they decided that he should be kept in the garden shed.

"It's not really a gardening shed, of course. We just keep things for the lawn in it, like a mower and some rakes. We can dig a pit, and cover it with some boards and dirt, and stick the mower on top. Nobody will know you're here."

He nodded approval, "That sounds brilliant. Where are the shovels?"

"Oh, I was going to use magic."

"You have to do it on your own; I can't use mine at all or else the Ministry will track me with it."

"Right…"

The pit was dug and she found some loose plywood in the greenhouse sheds that Neville was fiddling around with. He liked to make things when he had some free time on his hands, and was considering making a deck with the boards. He would have to make the deck some other time.

Harry settled into his little dug-out fortress, and adjusted the Muggle torches so he could read; without something to occupy himself with, he might go insane. His frantic running was sometimes a blessing in disguise, because it prevented him from having too much time to think. Hermione passed him an extra parcel of books, and he smiled.

"I really appreciate this, 'Mione. You're the best friend I've got."

Her smile faded a little, and he knew she was thinking about Ron. He reached up and took her hand, squeezing it.

"It wasn't either of our faults; he always was braver than he was smart."

She nodded, swallowing hard, "I know, I know. I just…I try not to think about it. I have Neville now, and I've gotten myself together, but I still miss him so much it makes me sick. I still wake up in the middle of the night expecting him beside me."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of, Hermione. It's normal to miss the ones you love. Remus used to call out Tonks' name by mistake. It happens to all of us."

"I know, but it's been three years! Why can't I get over this?"

He chewed his cheek, "If you want my opinion, I don't think we ever get over losing people. We just forget about them for a while."

"I guess you're right. Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

She closed the boards over his head, and he heard the scraping sound of the mower being moved to cover them.

He dreamed about Remus when he fell asleep.

000

It was a week later, and he'd been in the house to have dinner with his friends. Neville hadn't reacted much to discover Harry in his garden shed, claiming that he'd always suspected that Harry wasn't actually dead. He _did _raise his eyebrows at Harry's new hair color, though, which was already fading from washes.

After dinner on Sunday night, Hermione went upstairs to get ready for bed, and Harry went with her to keep her company. He barged into her room by kicking in the door playfully. He turned on the overhead lights when he realized that she was only using a tiny study lamp on her cluttered desk. Her bedroom doubled as her study. Or rather, it was a study that happened to have a bed and a closet in it.

She looked up from her desk, where it obvious she was planning to spend the night researching until she passed out. He looked around the cluttered room disapprovingly.

"Still the same old rat's nest, just like your dorm at school; what are you going to do when you have to move? How will you ever find room anywhere else for all this junk? Look at those books!" he indicated the toppling stacks on the floor and crowded surfaces of the room, "I'll bet you don't use some of those once a year." there were large volumes spread out and scrolls unraveling over the back of the sofa. She sheepishly took some of books from the sofa so he could sit.

"I'm sorry about the clutter, but I'm so busy these days that I don't have time to organize!"

Books cleared, she opened a cabinet that was tucked under her desk and took out two glasses and a bottle of sherry. She poured them both a nightcap.

Hermione handed him his glass of sherry, and they immediately started bickering a moment later, as if nothing had changed since their days at Hogwarts when the only immediate worries were exams, which seemed very insignificant and unimportant in hindsight. So much fuss over some questions on parchment…

"God!" Harry exclaimed, "We're not precisely hitting it off, are we?"

"If you burst into my room when I am working and insult me, and tuck your muddy feet on my sofa, what do you expect? You've been given a glass of sherry; isn't that courtesy above and beyond anything you've deserved?" she replied primly, taking a sip of her drink. Sherry was a dangerous drink. It had a frivolous reputation, though heaven knows why, but it has to be handled carefully. Sherry goes to your head faster than you can blink.

"Come off it! I'm your best friend. We are permitted liberties," he did take his feet off the sofa, though, if only to remove his garden-muddied shoes.

"That's what _you _think…" Hermione grumbled. She scratched something on the parchment in front of her, rolled it, and got up to start getting ready for bed.

"I heard about Remus. They did an article about him in the Prophet…god, they made him sound like a monster!" her fingers clenched around her hairbrush, and he could see that she was tearing her hair from the force of her brushing. He got off the sofa and came to stand beside her. He gently reached up and stilled her head. She made a choking sound, and buried her face in his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry…I feel like I'm falling apart."

He smoothed his hands through her hair, "Is this because I'm here? Am I reminding you of the war?"

She nodded hesitantly, "But that isn't your fault, Harry. Please don't feel guilty."

"I won't," he kissed the top of her head, "good-night."

"Good-night."

000

One night at dinner, after two weeks of peaceful solitude had passed, he announced,

"I need somewhere more permanent."

Neville nodded, and Hermione sighed.

"We know. We've been thinking about where you could go, and Neville thinks that America might be a good idea. It's a big country, with a lot of options, and we both have connections in various points of it," Hermione supplied

"But I don't have any money to go to America the Muggle way. Would you loan me some?"

Hermione snorted, "Don't you mean _give _you some? I don't expect a return payment. I wasn't nearly as involved in the War as I wanted to be; consider this my way of contributing to the cause."

His eyes were sad, "I wish you didn't feel that way, even if it is benefitting me right now. I thank god every day that you didn't have to see the tail-end of the War. A war isn't a noble or justifiable thing when you're in the middle of it," He didn't mention how frozen he'd felt inside ever since he first killed one of his adversaries instead of stunning them. It had to be done, and there was no way to turn back time and change things, but that didn't stop the nightmares or the guilt.

Once the seriousness passed, he asked who they knew who could get him settled somewhere in a secluded but populated area, preferably close to nature. Hermione frowned in thought, and Neville quietly drank his coffee. Hermione slammed her fist on the table.

"I know! Luna's great-aunt Bronwyn!"

Harry looked at her uncomprehendingly.

"She's one of the few people who believe that you killed Voldemort, so she came out of hiding," Hermione explained, "She had a nice little cottage up in Washington, on the outskirts of an Indian reservation, and she just came by a few days before you arrived to meet us with Luna. Oh my god, this is _so _meant to be!"

He nodded slowly. This was sounding good. "What's the weather like in Washington?"

"Oh, I forget, but I do know that her cottage is in this big forest. You know what, it's early enough that I can ask them to come over so we can get the plans in motion ASAP. I'll be right back; I'm just going to fire-call Luna," she rose and left the dining room. Neville smiled at Harry ruefully, and they shook their heads. Hermione's enthusiasm when she had a project still hadn't changed.

"So what's going on with you two?" Harry asked, getting bored of the quiet.

Neville shrugged, "We're not putting any labels on it, but we love each other. And yes, we're sleeping together…on occasion. It's sort of a fusion of friendship and being lovers, if you know what I mean."

Harry smiled, "Yeah. I'm happy. We all need love after all this hell we've been through."

"True."

Hermione returned, breathless, and a moment later Luna peeped around the door. Her hair was done up in pigtails, which made her look much younger than nineteen. She beamed when she spotted Harry and skipped over. Doing a little twirl half-way to him, she settled into his lap. He chose not to comment on this.

"Hello, Harry," she greeted him in her dreamy voice. He looked up and saw an extremely old woman also enter and make her way to the chair Neville pulled out for her. She smiled gratefully at him.

"Thank you, young man. Are you Harry Potter? I apologize, I can't see very well anymore."

"Ah no, he is," Neville indicated Harry, who had to lean around Luna to be seen. He held out his hand and shook hers. Her grip was surprisingly strong, although he supposed that he should've expected it. She was elderly to the extreme, but it was obvious that she had been a very solidly built woman at one point. He wasn't sure whether or not she was taller than him.

"'Lovely to meet the savior of the world; Miss Granger tells me that you need somewhere to stay, and I've come to say that you are more than welcome to my summer cottage. It's still well-stocked with food from my time in hiding, and is in a very nice area. The locals don't bother you unless you bother them, and the wildlife know better than to tamper with a house that has faeries in the garden."

Harry shifted Luna on his lap when his left leg started to go to sleep, "Oh, is it s magical area?"

"It used to be, a long time ago. Not the kind you're talking about, of course, but the kind that is overflowing with magical creatures. There used to be a sizable centaur population, and I spent my summers brownie-spotting. The faeries are still there, but they are a shriveled thing compared to what they used to be. There are too many humans in the area, and almost all of them have moved on now."

"Well, your home sounds delightful," Harry smiled at her, "When can I move in?"

She cackled, "You can move in now, if you want. There's only one catch…well, two."

He nodded to show he was listening.

"First, you have to take some delicate items to a friend of mine in Alaska. I'm too old to go myself, and I won't trust the postal service, no matter what kind of fancy packing tricks they use these days."

"Okay, that's reasonable. What's the other condition?"

"My pet, Deedee, is very attached to the area and refuses to leave permanently. I've left him in the living room for now to calm down; he isn't a very good traveler."

She cast a summoning charm, and a cage floated in to settle on the table. Inside was a beautiful bird that looked remarkably like Fawkes, but with gray plumage disrupted by two sunset-colored cheek colorations. Harry gaped.

"He's a very rare breed- he's half-phoenix, half-cockatiel. From what I understand, the cockatiel was a very seductive little lady," Bronwyn winked, "since he's got a temper, his previous owner named him Demon spawn. I tried to change it, but the name sticks for some reason. I just call him Deedee for short, though."

Harry nodded slowly, and extended his hand to stroke Deedee's crest. The bird let him pet him for a little while, and then suddenly snapped his head around and bit through the tip of his finger. Harry yelled and clutched the wounded appendage, glaring at the bird. It bent his head and picked up a seed in its beak. Unexpectedly, Deedee spat it at him, getting him in the cheek. It actually hissed at him, and he was too surprised to yell at it. Besides, that wouldn't have gone over very well with Bronwyn, who seemed to be genuinely fond of the little beast. His finger was bleeding profusely, and he excused himself to the bathroom to tend to it.

What the hell? What kind of animal was he being saddled with? He supposed that he could deal with it, though, since Bronwyn _was _being unbelievably generous to him. But still!

Returning to the dining room with a bandage on his cleaned finger, he sat next to Luna and ironed out the moving process. He would have to take a Muggle flight to Washington to pick up the glassware, then to Alaska to deliver it, and then go back to Washington.

He agreed to everything, although he had his doubts about Deedee, and departed on good terms with Bronwyn. Luna kissed his cheek before following her into the swirling flames. After they cleaned up, Hermione went with him to a local coffee house that had internet access and they procured last-minute tickets online.

Everything was arranged.

000

He awoke to the clanging alarm clock and showered in the cruel early morning sunshine, which is bright without being cheerful, and makes you wink without making you warm. Done grooming himself, he ran his fingers through his hair and descended the stairs to breakfast with Neville, who was to drive him to the airport. Hermione sleepily stumbled down the stairs five minutes before he was to leave, and kissed them both good-byes.

"America, here I come," Harry muttered into the frigid morning air. His calm was destroyed by the frantic squawking coming from the cage that Neville handed to him with a sympathetic smile.

"Sorry mate, but you can't 'forget' the bird here, even if it _is _possessed by the Devil."

000

End chapter 4

This one is quite long, eh?


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Guess who is making a cameo in this? Bertram the unspeakable Unspeakable, that's who!

Chapter Five

He arrived in Washington in the middle of a thunderstorm.

The delicate package was waiting for him in the safety deposit box Bronwyn had described, and he only stayed for two hours in a café before boarding the flight to Alaska. He held the box on his lap so that it wouldn't get jostled on the floor or in the baggage hold, and wondered how Demon spawn was getting on with the other animals. He snorted gleefully, hoping dearly that the little monster was having an absolutely terrible time. His finger still throbbed from the bite it gave him, and he was in no mood to forgive.

Half-way through the flight, his curiosity got the better of him and he opened the box. Inside were three tiny hand-made birds, each one with a different color of light glowing inside As he watched, the lights danced and he caught glimpses of faces and limbs inside. He quickly closed the box before the passenger beside him could look over and see the contents.

He was transporting will-o-the-wisps…illegally.

No wonder this was one of the conditions Bronwyn supplied. Will-o-the-wisps were an endangered species of creature, not that the British Ministry cared, and were religiously protected by creature experts. It was illegal to transport or give them shelter, supposedly because it 'limited their freedom'. Harry knew that was just the Ministry's way of sweeping their failings under the rug, so he wasn't too bothered about breaking the law this way.

He traced the box with his thumb thoughtfully for the rest of the flight. He supposed that he should've expected something like this from one of Luna's relatives, considering Luna's fanatical love for all things creature that rivaled even Hagrid's, before his death.

His throat closed up at the memory of the half-giant's death. His passing had left a hole in his heart. Hagrid was his very first friend, and that wasn't something that could be replaced. He sniffled and turned to look out the window. The view turned wavy and watery as he held back his emotions.

000

The address turned out to be for a perfectly ordinary-looking farm, with a cow demurely eyeing him from the shed. He frowned and wondered if he had the wrong address. It would be rather awful if he accidentally revealed the magical world to some hapless Muggle.

He knocked anyway, and waited. He didn't have to wait very long, because the door burst open seconds later to reveal a man in a bathrobe and knee socks. A toothbrush hung from one side of his mouth like a tusk.

"Oh….uh, is this a bad time?"

The man shook his head and guided him inside. He pointed to the sofa crammed between the stove and a towering stack of newspaper, and then disappeared into a back room. Harry heard running water and gargling sounds.

When he returned, he was smiling.

"You must be the fugitive Bronny told me about, Harold or Henry or something; I'm Bertram, ex-Unspeakable and protector of the innocent at large, at your service."

Harry held out his hand politely, and the man shook it firmly, "It's nice to meet you, sir. I'm Harry, and yes, Bronwyn did send me with this for you," he held up the package, which the man looked at with something like awe before taking it from him and going over to a workbench against the opposite wall. He opened the box slowly, and Harry couldn't tell whether he was taking them out of the box or simply admiring them.

He amused himself by looking around at the Muggle furnishings interspersed with magical curiosities, wondering if he should leave now. His flight back wasn't until later tonight, and it was still only late afternoon. Maybe he could go and get a drink somewhere, to relax from all the traveling.

Bertram turned from the box, beaming, "You have done a wonderful thing, Harry."

He shook his head, "No, what you and Bronwyn are doing is wonderful. I just played courier once."

"Well, she told me that you wouldn't be spending the night unless something happens to your flight, in which case you are welcome to stay here, but I won't detain you if you have other plans."

Harry rose and shook hands with him again, "Let me know if you need something like this done again. I'm staying in-"

"Bronwyn's summer haunt, I know. And I appreciate your offer. You really are as brave as they say."

He flushed and called out goodbye before leaving. Walking back to his hired car, he set it into four-wheel drive and headed back to civilization. He desperately needed that drink now. what had possessed him to put himself in danger with an offer like that?

But he already knew what. It was the same thing that kept him going even when the way was no longer easy in the War, when he lost hope or didn't know what his purpose was anymore. He never could leave a problem unsolved, or something helpless to fend for itself.

He found a watering hole close to the airport and got himself a beer from the draft, leaving his luggage in the car with Deedee, who was thankfully asleep. Draft beer wasn't something he'd had in ages, and it went down his throat smoother than butter. He ordered another, and then one more after that. There was a footie game on the TV, and he watched it in between gulps. There was a woman several seats down who kept glancing over at him, but he just wasn't interested so he pretended that he didn't see her.

When there was an hour until his flight, he paid the bartender and left. He moved slowly, so he wouldn't get an inconvenient dizzy fit. Too occupied with keeping his balance, he didn't spot his attacker until it was too late. A fist hit the side of his head, and he was dragged into the alley behind the bar. White spots bloomed over his vision, disorienting him, but then his survival skills kicked in. He sent his elbow flying, catching his attacker in the stomach. There was a grunt, and the hands holding him down retreated. He rolled to his feet and aimed a kick at his head.

His foot was seized, and twisted until he lost his balance and ended up on his back again. He wanted to get back on his feet, but the wind was knocked out of him when he fell. The man crawled on top of him and his fist collided with his collarbone when Harry thrashed to the side, trying to get out of range and save his skull. The knees on either side of his ribcage tightened and Harry felt a bit of panic when he realized how much danger he was in. It was late, he was tired, and he was a little inebriated. He was in no condition to have a brawl.

He bucked his hips, dislodging the man and darted for the mouth of the alley. If someone walked by and happened to look over, they would be in full view. He opened his mouth to yell but a meaty hand closed over it, and he was flung bodily against the brick wall of the bar. He groaned and tried to recover, but then the fists came and his whole torso was starting to ache and scream messages to his brain through his harassed nerves. He knew that he was losing this fight, and that his opponent was a lot bigger than him, which made him hard to physically manipulate.

He had to try, though, and the blood flying into his mouth when his throat was suddenly grasped in two large hands was enough to jolt him into motion. He kicked him in the groin, _hard._

It had the desired effect, and he took a breather while the man wheezed and crouched over his crotch. A stray reflected ray of green light from the bar illuminated his face, and Harry recognized him. It was Marcus Flint.

He lunged, but Marcus was ready for him. In a move that would've been impressive under different circumstances, he slipped out of his coat and wrapped it around Harry's head, using the synthetic material to suffocate him. He punched him in the small of his back, and Harry went to his knees. Harry stopped clawing at the coat long enough to knock Marcus' legs out from under him. He toppled on top of him, and he barely got the coat off in time to grab a gulp of air and cool off his sweat-drenched face before Marcus was aiming a punch at his nose.

He spied the Dark Mark on the exposed flesh, and went cold inside. It was like someone had switched off his brain and sent the power to his body. The fist slowed to a crawl, and the sounds of the city faded away. He wasn't even sure about what he was doing anymore. The only thing he was sure of was that Marcus Flint was going to die, and he was going to die right _now _for what he did_._

Marcus bucked and contorted beneath him, clawing at his hands and fighting for his life. But he was no match for Harry's cold, mindless rage, and his efforts gradually stilled.

His skin was already cooling beneath his hyper-sensitive fingertips before Harry sluggishly started to think again. He could hear some kind of high pitched sound, and was dimly aware that he was straddling Marcus Flint, but he couldn't focus on anything else.

What just happened? Why did he hurt all over?

Sirens dimly sounded in his ears, which felt like they were under water. Someone was screaming nearby, and there were people pulling at him, pulling at Marcus. They were separated, but he didn't really notice. He was guided into the back of a police car, and an ambulance loaded Marcus into the back. If Harry had been in his right mind, he would've smiled. There was nothing the Muggles could do for a dead man.

He didn't know that he had a concussion.

000

His lawyer was clearly at a loss. The evidence against him was overwhelming, and no one seemed to believe that self defense was even in the cards. Harry only shrugged when the poor man looked at him in case he had any ideas.

There was nothing left except to plead for a full psychological evaluation, to get them some time to strategize.

000

There was a fierce pounding on the door, and Hermione groaned. It was the middle of the day, and the mail had already arrived; Since Neville was out in his greenhouses and oblivious to anything not growing out of the ground, she had to answer the door.

"I'm coming!" she roared, when the knocking increased in fervor. She rose stiffly out of her chair and stretched her back and neck with care before descending the stairs. She looked out the peephole, and turned pale when she saw the Aurors.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door a crack and didn't have to try very hard to look annoyed, "Yes? What's so damn urgent?"

"Ma'am, may we come inside?"

She sized them up disdainfully, "Why?"

Their apparent leader, who was more decorated than the others, sighed, "Ma'am, I'm trying to do this nicely, but we have a search warrant. We can do this the civilized way or the hard way, and right now your attitude is somersaulting us in the wrong direction."

There wasn't a choice anymore, so she stood to the side and held the door open, keeping her eyes on the leader to show that she wasn't afraid. Inside she was panicking. Harry wasn't here anymore, and the hole had been filled in yesterday by Neville, but what if somebody had seen him?

The Aurors silently split up, and she followed the man who went upstairs to make sure that he didn't break anything in her study by accident or disarrange her notes. He scowled at her interference, but fear of his boss' reaction if he made things unpleasant held him in check as she flitted around putting things back into order behind him.

When the search was complete several exhausting hours later, they'd found all of nothing. She crossed her arms and stiffly offered them tea, which was accepted. While she made it, she strained her ears and caught snippets of their conversation. From what she could hear, no one had seen anything, but they were searching the premises of everyone who had had regular contact with 'him'. She didn't have to be a genius to deduce who 'him' was. Harry had really put his foot into it this time.

She distributed tea and sat down in an arm chair they'd left open for her. No one spoke for several minutes, and then she asked, "Am I allowed to know what you were looking for?"

"Yes, ma'am; you were suspected of harboring a fugitive, but we now know that to be false. I apologize for this inconvenience on the behalf of the Ministry, but these kind of safety measures are necessary for the preservation of public safety."

She snorted and muttered, "Yeah, right. What made you people think _I _would be keeping somebody here? Do I look like somebody who would do something like that?" she gestured smoothly to her pretty floral day dress and bunny slippers. If she hadn't been scowling, she would have been as unthreatening as it gets.

"Your food bill increased."

"Fuck off, that can't be the reason!"

There was a general frown, and she sipped her tea before continuing,

"You're serious? Neville and I decide to buy some extra food for ourselves and we get investigated by the Ministry? And meanwhile, there are murderers and rapists out there who are far more deserving of your time. God, I can't believe this."

The tea drinking continued in tense silence, and then they left. The leader nodded to her briskly, and she sneered.

As soon as she confirmed that they were absolutely gone, she rushed to the fireplace and called Bronwyn's cottage. There was no answer, so she could only assume that Harry hadn't arrived yet. She cursed and considered writing a letter, but knew that that would be too dangerous.

There was nothing she could do but wait.

000

The psychologist entered the room and flashed him a smile. Harry didn't smile back for a moment, frowning in thought. The man seemed very familiar to him. Hadn't he seen him somewhere before? And then he remembered. This man was in the elevator once when he went to the Ministry, long before everything went south with them.

He looked at him calculatingly, taking in the gentle smile and deliberately non-threatening body language. Obviously this man wasn't about to report him to the Ministry, so he could only assume that he was one of the people who believed that he'd done the right thing and that he really had killed Voldemort and not some innocent Muggle.

He leaned forward after their usual introductions and confided, "You and I both know that the man I killed, Marcus Flint, was a Death Eater, and not a limp-wristed one either; Flint was one of the most vicious in the younger set. The question now is what we're going to do about this. The Muggle police aren't going to understand the significance of the Dark Mark, and I'd really rather not have to fight my way out of here. Will you help me out? I'd like to know now, before I get my hopes up and waste time I could spend plotting."

Carl Gaarder looked taken aback at this sudden confession and request, and Harry assumed that he was going to need some time to think about it before answering. He respected that, and looked out the barred window instead of at him, so he would be more comfortable. He remembered the charges yesterday, and the surreal feeling it had been to be in a court setting all over again, once more as the criminal. What he did the day before yesterday was out of self defense, no matter what the witnesses thought. If he'd let up for a moment, Marcus would've seized the opportunity and killed him; the hatred in his eyes was unmistakable.

At last Carl spoke. "Tell me more about how you knew Mr. Flint, as you call him, Ludwig."

It took Harry a moment to remember that Ludwig was the name on the false I.D. he was using. He took a moment to be irritated with Hermione for not coming up with a less embarrassing name than Ludwig Brink. He sighed, and replied, "Well, we went to school together. He was one of the older years, and played on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and I think you know what that means. He was a bully, and just an over-all bastard. I wasn't surprised when I heard through the grapevine that he'd converted; the sadistic prick probably couldn't wait to sign up. I saw him a couple of times during battles and wounded him once, but we didn't have any personal contact. I don't know if he attacked me out of a personal need for revenge, or if he was sent here by someone. Neither option is pleasant. You know that I've dedicated my life to fighting anyone who follows Voldemort, and I would've done it even if I wasn't supposed to be the hero of this sick fairy tale."

Carl nodded calmly, "Okay, thank you. That was very helpful. How about we do some tests now, hm?"

A shrinking sensation flitted over Harry's shoulder blades, and he tensed. _Oh shit, oh fuck, oh damn him…how could he have been so stupid?!_

This man was no wizard. He was _so _going to get sent to a madhouse, and he'd brought it upon himself!

True to his worst fears, he was declared criminally insane; he was diagnosed with extreme paranoia and some kind of post traumatic stress disorder (he wasn't really paying attention to the Muggle's mumbo-jumbo); he was clearly not safe for other prisoners to be around.

He was packed into a car, strapped down, and left alone with two wary-looking men who could've been body builders if they were ever out of work. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. He was going to a helicopter, which would take him to the insane asylum.

Well, at least it would be remote and comfortable.

He tried to reconcile himself to this new development, tried to calm himself down and consider it a compromise of sorts, but couldn't do it. He couldn't suppress his nature, and his nature wanted out. It outright revolted against being caged and treated like an animal, no matter how well-tended.

The same swelling feeling he'd experienced when sitting in the Wizengamot started to surge through him. It would have felt wonderful if his rational mind wasn't panicking about what his magic would finally focus on as a target. It was a little like being on pain killers- it was hard to think straight, and his whole body felt fucking wonderful. His eyes fluttered against his will, and he wondered if he would fall into some kind of trance.

No such luck. The door he was leaning against burst into tiny pieces, and his restraining belts unraveled into threads too small to tie a mouse's shoes with. He tumbled out of the speeding vehicle onto the highway.

He had the presence of mind to dart into the trees edging the road before they could park the vehicle and come after him. He let his magic take control, and found himself pulled in an unknown direction. He didn't question it, and understood what his magic was doing when he broke through the tree cover hours later, unmolested by wildlife, to find himself looking down at a small port. There were some ferries, and he saw that one was going to leave soon if the people crowded on it were anything to go by.

If he'd apparatated, he could be in the cargo hold in two minutes tops, but he couldn't risk the Aurors picking up on it and had to sprint instead. He lost his footing half-way down the slope and tumbled painfully through the trees and ferns until he came to a stop naturally. Standing, he didn't bother to dust himself off before running like hell towards the ferry. He darted through things and behind things, still following the tugging on his navel, not really knowing where he was going or caring.

When the tugging stopped, he sat down slowly and tried to get air into his lungs. He was in the cargo hold of the ferry headed to Washington.

This was not the way the plan was supposed to go, but he supposed that it could've been worse. He was officially a fugitive for both Muggle and Magical governments, both of which thought he was violently insane. Was the universe trying to tell him something?

000

End chapter 5

A special thanks to BonneNuit for helping me out with the Alaska law details :D


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I just wanted to say thank to all of you reading this! It makes my day to check my stats and see how many people like it.

Chapter Six

The boat docked, startling him out of sleep. He massaged his eyes, and winced when he tried to move. His whole body ached, the artificial pain killers from his surge of suppressed magic long gone. He'd been in a brawl three days ago, manhandled in the days in between, and then dumped on a highway. There were large patches of scabbed skin on his forearms when he turned them over for inspection, which he'd used to catch his balance. A glance down proved his knees to be dark brown with the dried blood that'd seeped through his jeans.

He supposed that he should be grateful for still wearing his normal clothes instead of an orange jumpsuit or straight jacket, but a sniff to his underarm proved that they weren't grateful to him.

Voices following the opening of a door convinced him to stop worrying about his clothes. He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and crept towards the door, keeping behind the barrels as often as possible. He saw some uniformed men laughing together, one of them holding a clipboard. When none of them were watching the door, he slipped out.

Instead of crouching the rest of the way, which he knew would look really suspicious to the cameras he switched to as much of a swagger as he could manage with his injuries and moved like he owned the place until he reached the upper levels. If anyone asked, he was lost and happened to get into the staff areas.

He disembarked with the rest of the passengers, and darted out of the waiting lines that would eventually ask for identification. The Alaskan law department was currently in possession of his wallet, so he had nothing to show them, and that could only lead to trouble.

Once out of the docking area, he stuck to side streets and alleys where there was a lower chance of human contact, heading for the woods. A crippling wave of hunger halted his plans, and he changed direction to a small gas station on the outskirts.

He caught his reflection on the glass, and saw that he looked like hell.

Inside, it was deserted except for the bearded man behind the counter. Harry smiled, adjusting his hood so that his hideous hair color wasn't visible but as much of his face as possible was. "Hey there! Do you have a restroom I can use? I took a tumble in the woods, and I'd like to clean my cuts as soon as possible."

The man looked him over and jerked his chin in the direction of the back, "Yeah, but it's single stall so don't take too much time in there."

"Thanks!"

Harry brushed against one of the racks of food on the way, and once again against the small cosmetics section. He stepped neatly inside the bathroom when he reached it, and bolted the door. Reaching into his sweatshirt, he removed the small bag of pretzels and bottle of hair bleach. Removing his sweatshirt entirely, he inspected the damage. His hair was roughly the color of muddy snow with some piss in it.

He groaned and opened the bag of pretzels, devouring them in record time. That accomplished, though his stomach wasn't satisfied, he read the directions on the bottle of bleach. It seemed straightforward enough. Bending his head under the faucet, he soaked his hair and then patted it with the towels there.

Applying the bleach, he waited impatiently, knee bouncing. The radio played on the speakers, some folk music station, and he was just tuning it out when the music abruptly ended, and a crackly voice announced that there was a fugitive named Ludwig Brink who may or may not be in the area. A brief description was given of him, describing him as average height, about 22 years old, green-eyed and blonde-haired.

He swore and quickly rinsed the mixture out of his hair. He blotted it dry, and chanced a look in the mirror. He looked even worse than before, with the roots and various small clumps of his hair still the old color. Pulling his sweatshirt back on, he exited the bathroom and nodded to the man behind the counter.

He forced himself to walk normally out of sight and then started running as soon as he hit the trees. He didn't care where he went, as long as it was unpopulated and had natural water resources (which he could see were abundant here) in case they set dogs on him.

Several hours later he realized that the trees were thinning. Seeing a small town ahead, he decided to risk it and get some more food. Normally he would've set up camp somewhere and made some traps for the wildlife so he could eat, but he hadn't found anywhere suitable and he was freezing from the rain.

Stepping into another gas station, he walked up to the counter and asked where he was, explaining that he'd gotten lost in the woods and was only now back in civilization. The girl behind the counter nodded sympathetically and told him that he was in La Push. He asked to see a map, and made sure that he didn't get it too wet while he checked which direction he would have to head to get to Bronwyn's cottage. His eyebrows rose when he saw that it wasn't very far indeed, close enough for him to walk before it really got dark out. He handed back the map, thanked her, and left.

Tonight, he was sleeping in a bed.

By the time he was skirting the Quileute Reservation, he gauged that it was about six in the evening. He swiped his wet hair out of his eyes for the thousandth time and peered through the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of the cottage. He knew that he was in the right area, and only hoped that he didn't wind up moving in circles and continuously missing his location.

Finally he saw a hint of a building amongst the thickly-growing trees and started to run towards it. His legs burned, and his lungs protested, but he couldn't wait any longer. His teeth chattered hard enough to jar him, and he was looking forward to feeling his extremities again.

It was two-storied with two dormer windows and a chicken coop perched on the roof. A curving iron staircase stood against one side of the house, seemingly there in case you wanted to visit the chickens. It had a chimney on the opposite side of the house from the stairs. He went around to the back, ignoring the sloping front porch.

He entered through the cellar like he'd been instructed, using the key hidden inside a frog-shaped garden ornament's mouth. Squinting at it now that he was much closer than before, he definitely believed that it had preceded the Quileute reservation by several years like Bronwyn had boasted; there was a look of antiquity about it that he couldn't put his finger on. A gust of stale air hit his nose when he opened the doors to the cellar, and he let it air out for a minute before going in.

The cellar was as well-stocked as he'd been told, and in the gloomy light of the single light bulb he could see endless rows of canned vegetables and salted meat stored in wooden barrels and crates. He spied some grain barrels, and a basket of apples that'd composted long ago. There were several small trees in it. Next to the ex-apples was a rack with dusty bottles of wine. He selected a small bottle, knowing that it would help his chill.

The steps leading up into the house itself were narrow and creaked dangerously when he climbed them. As soon as he pushed open the door, he could tell that the kitchen was the largest room in the house. It was dominated by the fireplace, and a sofa was arranged in front of it. Rubbing his arms to get the blood moving faster, he hurried over to the fire and looked around for the supplies. Starting a fire with shaking, wet hands is not easy, but he managed, only to discover that it smoked, badly. Coughing, he opened a window a crack and hoped that the smoke would be sucked out by the wind.

In the middle of the kitchen floor a dead cockroach lay on its back, brown legs stretched out.

"What a welcome," Harry muttered, kicking it out of sight. He placed the bottle of wine heavily on the counter and hunted for a corkscrew. He pulled off his soaked sweatshirt, and the t-shirt underneath that. Dropping them to the floor, he opened the bottle smoothly with one hand while unbuttoning his water-heavy denims. He shimmied out of them and kicked them aside before stumbling into the sofa and wrapping the afghan folded across the back of it around him.

The first swallow of wine, drunk from the neck, hit the back of his throat like a bomb. He coughed. It was bitter and vinegary and nasty. It lacked the pleasant breaded fizzle of beer and had none of the style that Firewhisky boasted. Why was this so popular? But then he felt it: the slow delirious climb of well being. Sighing with happiness, he took another gulp and then another. The evening passed slowly, but not unpleasantly.

He finally fell asleep on the sofa, blood warm and singing through his veins.

000

He woke up with a headache and an aching bladder, but warm and alive. He explored the first floor, finding a bathroom and a room that could be a closet with a bed and small chest of drawers in it. He relieved himself and flicked on the light, daring to look at himself. He looked like shit. His face was bruised, and his hair was a nightmare. Touching it, he realized that it was more like straw than a living thing. He groaned and went into the kitchen, hunting for scissors. Finding them, he returned to the bathroom and spread a towel over the sink.

Clipping close to the skull, he achieved a very close but uneven cut. It was in multi-colored shades of blonde, and it really wasn't his color. Opening the cabinet behind the mirror, he found a packet of razors, a can of shaving cream, a toothbrush still in its plastic wrapping, and a tube of toothpaste. He smiled. Bronwyn was an old-school hostess.

He shaved the rest of his hair off, nicking himself only twice and none too deeply. The result was more menacing than he'd hoped, but at least it would make him more unrecognizable if the Muggles came looking for him here (which he doubted). His scar stood out, even though it'd long faded to nothing but a raised white zigzag. He traced it with his thumb.

His neck prickled from the hair, and he shook the towel out into the trash can before balling it up and dumping it on the floor. He peeked in the shower and saw a set of shampoo and conditioner and a bar of soap.

Shucking off his briefs, he opened the cabinet that he presumed towels were kept in. something furry fell out and landed on his foot, and he screamed, startled.

He jerked his whole body away from it and then stilled when he realized that it was only a wig. Swearing at how stupid he must've looked, he bent down and picked it up. Turning it over his hands, he noted the disheveled look of the thing and wondered what it'd been doing in the linens.

On a whim, he turned to the mirror and put it on, adjusting it so that it was the right way around. He stared. He looked remarkably like a woman in it, albeit an ugly one. An idea began to form, and he left the bathroom, still naked and wearing the wig, to look through the chest of drawers in the bedroom. There were old lady under things inside; old black stockings carefully rolled with little fabric sleeves with garters beside them, giant panties, and a slip or two. Frustrated, he looked around and spotted a closet. Opening it, he found a row of nearly identical black dresses very much like the one Bronwyn was wearing when she visited. He took one out, and turned it over in his hands. It was little more than a sack, with a row of buttons going from the high collar to the waist and a pair of pockets hidden in the fold of the skirt.

He shouldn't…but he did. He pulled it over his head and straightened the wig afterward. Looking down, he found her old shoes neatly ranged in their original cardboard boxes. Opening one, he was disappointed to see that there was no way he could get his foot into one.

Smoothing the dress, he left for the bathroom. He looked in the mirror again, and couldn't believe that his suspicions had been right. He was just young enough to still have a trace of the androgynous about him, and the wig and dress accentuated it. With some padding and a shave, he could easily pass for a woman.

This was perfect! There is no better way to evade a physical description than to change your gender. As a woman, he could go out instead of isolating himself here until the food ran out. He was thankful that he had none of the unfortunate insecurity that some other young men felt about their gender.

He grinned.

Stripping out of his new disguise, he went back to the bathroom and pulled himself a bath instead of showering like he'd originally intended.

Once he was clean, he went back to the kitchen and inspected his clothes. Maybe he should've hung them up to dry last night instead of just leaving them on the floor, because now they were stiff and smelled even worse than they had before. He put on one of the dresses instead, and went upstairs.

There were two doors at the top of the landing, and one overlooked the garden and the other the front of the house. He went into the one that looked out the back first, getting an eyeful of what he couldn't see in the dark last night. There were the remains of a low, crumbling brick wall ringing the far side of the backyard, which was overgrown with holly, laurel, myrtle, and silver birches. Raised beds with straggly vegetables, obviously sampled by the wildlife, and flowers gone wild could be barely peeked at through the tangled branches of the trees and bushes.

Another small bed was in this room, similar to the one below but with a larger set of pillows and a plaid flannel blanket instead of the crisp white counterpane. He left, leaving the door open to air the room out, and went into the other room. This room was much larger than the other one, and occupied roughly the same space as the kitchen/sitting area below. There was a double bed and a clothes rack like you'd find at a department store against the wall facing the windows, and there were lace curtains blocking his view.

He pushed them aside and looked out over the top of the porch, which he could see needed some repairs. The forest pressed in all around the house. Pressing his nose to the window, he strained his eyes to see if the wall extended to the front. It didn't, but he did see the chicken coop out of the corner of his eye. He was curious, and it wasn't raining very hard out, so he went downstairs and outside to the iron staircase. Half-way up he realized that there was a way to get into the second floor through the closet in the smaller room and smacked his forehead. Why didn't he think to check?

The chicken coop looked deserted, but he edged across the roof to it anyway. Peering inside, he shrieked when something flew at his face, squawking and waving its wings.

"Oh my god!" he fell flat on his back on the roof, heart pounding. He had _not _been expecting that. Opening his eyes, he saw Demon spawn perched on the door, fluffing up his feathers against the drizzling rain.

He couldn't believe his eyes. How had the bird gotten here? Scratch that. He didn't want to know. Deedee smugly clicked his beak at him and went back inside.

Rubbing his face, he climbed back off the roof and went inside. He decided to claim the room with the double bed as his own, even though it was farther from the bathroom. At least, now with Deedee safely where he was supposed to be, he didn't have to explain to Luna and her great-aunt about how he'd lost their darling pet.

Tonight, after he'd eaten and rested, he would test out his disguise in the neighborhood.

000

End chapter 6


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Heads up to people who have been reading me for a while, I've been returning to my admiration of Emmett lately to the point of watching movies that Kellan Lutz had parts in. This may or may not mean that I will write another story with him. _

Chapter Seven

He got bored around noon and decided to get a head start on shaving. Several large patches of razor burn later convinced him that he was going to need a better solution for his arm hair, or he would have to take care to never reveal his arms or legs in public. As clammy as this place was, it had to have a hot season at some point, and he didn't want to be confined to a long-sleeved dress all the time.

Grabbing a piece of toilet paper, since there wasn't a notepad to be found in the house, he added another item to his ever-growing list.

Next, after handling the hair problem, he practiced moving like a girl. It was a lot harder than he thought, especially in his comfortable combat boots that he'd worn through mud and snow for the past three years. Prancing in them felt almost indecent, after all the manly fighting they'd seen. At last he managed a semblance of a sway that didn't make him look like a cartoon character, but only after painfully falling on his pride more times than he wanted to count. The next step was to stand like a girl, which was, for some reason, harder.

"If you aren't proud of your legs, they're going to look damned stupid," he mumbled, shifting his weight from one leg onto the other and keeping it there with one hip slightly cocked out. He was shorter than any man wanted to be, but had a length of leg that made all the difference between being short and being stumpy. It was a passable impression, just like the walk, but he definitely needed a pair of heeled shoes to make his hips move enough.

Padding his chest and hips with balled bits of toilet paper stuffed into the cups of the under-slip and garter belt, he straightened the wig needlessly and decided that he was ready to go to town to try out his disguise and do his shopping.

There was a crackling from the fireplace just as he was getting ready to go outside, and he froze. Hermione's head appeared in the flames, and he sighed, releasing the tense breath that was trapped in his throat.

"Hermione, you scared me!"

She looked at him oddly, and he realized that he was still dressed like a mannish woman. "Oh!" he took off the wig, and her eyes widened further.

"You shaved your head? And why are you wearing a dress and make-up?"

He flushed, wondering how much of a pervert he looked, "Hermione, I somehow managed to get into it even deeper than usual. I ran into Marcus Flint," she gasped, "in Alaska, and he tried to kill me, so I killed him out of self-defense. It didn't look that way to the Muggle police, though, and I fucked up in court when I thought that the court psychologist was a wizard and tried to explain the situation. To make matters short, they stamped me as criminally insane and were shipping me off to an asylum for life when I escaped."

She groaned, and massaged her face, "Alright, that's it, you're coming back to the garden shed."

"No, no, no! I made it here okay, and I'm fine. Granted, there is a manhunt for me right now, but I had my hair dyed, as you know, and was using that awful false name you gave me. All you have to do is get me a new I.D. for a female preferably over 21 so I can go to bars and some kind of stipulation that shows I'm British but am in the States legally. Is that too much to ask?"

Hermione grumbled, "I suppose I could make that happen…but why a woman?"

"Because I lost my luggage and only have one set of men's clothing, and Luna once told me that the best way to evade or hide something is to change a basic detail. I think that gender qualifies as a basic detail, don't you?"

"Yeah, I kind of get it, but it's still really weird. I'll get that I.D. for you in a couple of hours- I just need to talk to my contact. What kind of education do you want your female I.D. to have? I'm assuming she'll have to get a job…I mean you. God, this is confusing."

He shrugged, "Um…something generic, like Education or Communications. I'm not picky. Nothing flashy; I am not here to draw attention to myself."

She snorted, "Well, kiss those dreams good-bye honey, because in that get-up it's hard to ignore you. You look kind of like a vulture, but with lopsided tits."

He straightened them self-consciously, "You're mean."

"I know, but not so mean that I won't get you that I.D. Why don't you go get yourself some tampons and I'll talk to you in three hours when you come back?"

He scowled, still pretending to be hurt, and agreed. Replacing the wig, he looked in the mirror. Bronwyn hadn't had much in the way of cosmetics, but he'd done wonders with the lipstick and mascara. His eyebrows were still red from plucking, and would probably revolt in his sleep somehow.

The wig was the tawny color favored by old women, and reached his shoulders just barely in a tasteful arrangement of artificial curls and waves. He flicked some behind his ear, and smiled approvingly. He decided to not smile if he could help it because it emphasized his jaw.

000

End chapter 7

Dudes, this isn't really an update and I won't pretend that it is. I'm kind of swamped, and there probably won't be an update tomorrow because of work and this dinner party.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Worms wriggled through his insides, making him want to squirm. He stubbornly maintained his swinging feminine walk, and entered the Reservation proper. It wasn't much, but there was a convenience store, a few shops, and a gas station. He headed into the gas station and purchased a packet of cigarettes. A good way to distract from an obvious disguise is to develop distracting habits or features. If the dress and his accent weren't enough, he could now obnoxiously talk about smoking whenever he was indoors and smoke out of them.

He breezed through the convenience store, looking around for his basic supplies and then some. In the personal grooming section he found something that he would kiss if it were a mammal. It was called Nair, and promised to remove all traces of hair as long as he massaged it into the skin and left it there for a certain amount of time. He couldn't believe his luck- no more nasty razor burn or cuts for him!

Just as he was leaving, still kind of miffed about the lack of modern stockings that looked comfortable and bra sizes smaller than a AA, he spotted a small packet towards the bottom of the rack. They were falsies, otherwise known as chicken filets, and they were perfect; exactly what he needed. He went back to the bra section and upgraded to a much larger size, Ds to be exact, and bought enough falsies to fill the cups. Exaggerated feminine charms could only help his cause.

He paid for what he could, and shop-lifted the rest. The voluminous skirts of the dress were infinitely useful, he'd discovered. He really was going to need a job soon, though. Not everything could be shop-lifted, and he couldn't use magic.

It was a bit difficult carrying his bags home in the rain without the benefit of a shrinking charm, and he slipped and fell in the mud more than once. Once he got home, he headed straight to the fireplace and called Hermione. She was waiting for him, and handed the new false papers and plastic rectangle that would become his new identity.

Turning it over, he read the name, having learned his lesson last time. Ludwig, indeed.

"_Velma Hall_?!" he spluttered, outraged, "What do I look like, somebody's grandmother?"

She shrugged, though he could tell that she was trying not to smirk, "Hey man, I'm doing you a favor. A little gratitude would be nice; look, I even made you 23 years old. Besides, in that get-up, you've obviously got some kind of little old lady complex."

He gaped first at her, then at the I.D., and then back.

"Say cheese!" she suddenly lifted a camera and snapped a picture. He narrowed his eyes when she lowered it, and asked what that was for. She rolled her eyes and muttered some kind of charm. The plastic in his hand vibrated and flashed brightly for a second, and then he looked down and saw that she'd transferred the picture onto it. He had to admit, it looked very professional.

It was a terrible picture.

Just as he was getting ready to terminate the fire-call, she raised her hand and said, "Oh, by the way, you now have a degree as an educator, and there is a recent opening in the local Reservation school. Apparently their last English teacher said some racist things to the students, and had some kind of ongoing flirtation with one of the students. You might want to look into it. I know you're qualified, and you'll want a job soon."

He nodded, and they exchanged farewells. A teacher, huh? He supposed that he could do that if he absolutely needed to, and when in doubt he could always mimic Snape. One thing was for certain, though. He needed a drink, and the wine was simply not going to cut it.

000

The first thing Jacob noticed was the packet of Pall Malls on the counter in front of her. Jessie's girl played over the radio, which could only be compounding Sam's bad mood. He'd invited Jacob to come with him to the bar (it was more of an order than an invitation) so he wouldn't have to drink alone, even though Jacob wasn't technically allowed in there since he was seventeen. Sam had some big fight with Emily and needed to relax with a couple of beers before he dared to go back home to make it up with her. Jacob was almost scared by their fight, to be honest. Because of the Imprint, he'd thought that everything would always be rainbows and butterflies (as long as Sam didn't transform too close to her again), but he was learning differently tonight.

Sam continued to ramble through what caused their latest fight, slurring every other word, and he looked back at the unfamiliar woman at the bar out of boredom. It wasn't a big Reservation, and he'd lived here his whole life, so he knew right away that he'd never seen this woman before. He dropped his eyes to her feet, and raised an eyebrow at the cracked soles of boots that looked fit for marching off to war rather than for having a drink at a bar.

She looked up, and met his eyes. The light glinted off of her glasses, so he couldn't see what her eyes looked like, but he could see that she wasn't the prettiest blossom in the flower patch. She had one of those unfortunate jaws that would look much better on a man or a horse. She immediately looked down, and tapped her cigarette against the ashtray, dislodging ash that hadn't yet had time to form. Jacob wondered why she was allowed to smoke inside.

Well into his fourth beer, Sam didn't notice when Jacob got up and went over to sit next to her at the bar. The bar wasn't crowded tonight, being Tuesday, but there were just enough people there for it to not look too unusual for him to sit beside her.

She dragged her eyes away from her cigarettes, which she seemed to be having a stare-down with, and looked him in the eye. He coughed, suddenly wondering why he'd come over here. What was he going to do, give her the cheesy 'welcome to the Reservation' speech?

He opened his mouth and a little squeak came out. She took a sip of her mostly-empty martini, and he leaped on the situation.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Her eyes widened, and he wondered why she seemed so shocked. Then, looking her over again and taking in the unattractive figure, terrible dress, and unfortunate facial structure, he deduced that she'd never been asked this before. She finished her martini and gave him a tiny smile.

"Yes, thank you, that's very…sweet of you," she addressed the bartender, "I'll have another martini, with extra olives."

As she shifted, his sharp nose caught a whiff of something. She smelled masculine, so she was probably one of those women who wore men's cologne, but there was something else beneath it. His ears shifted of their own accord, and he gripped the counter, hoping that he wouldn't have some kind of freakish transformation in the middle of the bar for no reason.

To keep it together, he asked the first thing that came to mind, "So, what cologne are you wearing? It smells good."

"None; I'm not letting that chemical crap anywhere near my skin. I'm naturally wonderful," she held out her hand, "I'm Velma."

Jacob laughed and shook hands, "I'm Jacob," he picked up on her interesting voice. It was kind of hoarse and lower than you'd expect from a woman, but nice somehow. His lower spine thrummed pleasantly when he heard it, "You've got an accent; where are you from?"

"I'm a European mongrel, English mostly. What are you, since you're obviously from here?"

"I'm a Quileute. You're on our tribe's Reservation."

She raised her eyebrows sarcastically, "No way! I had no idea, even with the all the signs plastered on everything. I migrated here knowing full well that it was onto an Indian Reservation, but I appreciate your willingness to share the obvious."

He was a little insulted at first, but then he realized that she was just teasing him and he had to smile before continuing, "If you're English and just migrated to America, what made you move _here? _I mean, it's my home and I love it, but I just can't see other people wanting to live here," he chuckled, imagining tourists flocking to Washington for anything other than the national parks, "America has beautiful places like Florida and California. It's just kind of gloomy here."

"I had some personal problems and needed to get away, to go somewhere remote where I had no connection to my past. A friend happened to have a cottage in the area that she wasn't using anymore, and I moved in for now. Besides, I'm used to gloomy weather. English, remember?"

He nodded, and then tentatively asked, "What kind of personal problems?"

"So what's with the questions?" she gave him a semi-hostile look, and he backed off.

"Nothing, I'm just trying to figure you out."

She laughed, and then something bitter appeared in her eyes and she answered, "Don't try to figure me out, Jake. Einstein couldn't do that."

He opened his mouth to retort, but Sam stumbled over just then and mumbled that he needed a ride home to Emily's. He apologetically met her eyes and shrugged, and she waved him off.

"Don't mind me. Take care of your friend. Thanks for the drink."

"No problem," he led Sam out of the bar and to his car, strapping him in so that he wouldn't fall over. Climbing into the driver's seat, he drove back to Emily's and made sure that he made it safely inside and into Emily's arms. From the tight look on her face, she wasn't very happy about him coming home drunk.

As he drove home, he thought about Velma and wondered if he would see her again.

000

End chapter 8

I know it's been a while since I updated, and I'm sorry. But hey, the boys met! Well, boy and lady-man.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The school was a series of connected buildings made out of sheet metal and brick, depending on the age of the building. Velma eyed it with indifference, mentally doing a quick comparison between it and Hogwarts on a glorious autumn day. He concluded that Muggles weren't just getting the short end of the stick; they were getting the short end dipped in shit.

He walked in and gave his false resume to the lady behind the desk, who gave him a look very similar to the stink-eye for his get-up. He almost reached down to make sure that his tits were straight, but resisted the urge. It was kind of addictive to adjust himself, and he was trying to train himself out of the bad habit lest he draw undue attention to himself. He knew well enough that if some lady no matter how ugly, started messing with her breasts in public he would pay very close attention.

Two days later the school called him and told him that his resume was accepted. He was mildly surprised before he reconsidered and decided that there probably wasn't a line around the block of people that wanted to teach in such a remote location.

To celebrate, she went to the beach, minus her stockings and boots, and walked while watching the sunset. The rocks dug sharply into his soles, but he was long used to covering tough terrain with minimal protection and didn't mind.

It was beautiful, and the scenery took his breath away. On one side, the uneven shoreline hugged tightly by choppy water and on the other a lush rainforest. A few rays of late sunshine peeked through the clouds and shot towards the trees, illuminating them in glistening gold, the light reflecting off of the dewy branches.

When the sun set, the beach turned out to be quite dark. She walked home, lost in thought. His disguise was working well, and his visit to the beach convinced him that he could make it work on multiple kinds of terrain.

Several minutes from home, he heard something rustling in the bushes and froze with his hand on the knife up his sleeve. The rustling faded away, but he ran the rest of the way home and bolted the door. He needed to be more careful about letting his guard down. If something caught him unawares, the consequences could be highly unpleasant.

000

He tried to psyche himself out of being nervous. Not too long ago he'd been a schoolboy himself, so why was he so afraid of teaching some book shit that nobody would pay attention to? But the nerves remained as highly strung as they could, and he paced for half the night debating whether or not he even wanted to show up and teach the little bastards.

But, come morning, he bathed and dressed and tried to choke down some cereal. It didn't work so well, and he gave up.

It was raining, as expected, and he regretted not possessing a more modern umbrella. The one provided by the cottage had three broken supports, which gave it more the appearance of a bat with half-spread wings than a comforting image of dry protection. He got more funny looks today than yesterday, due to it being inexplicably the time of day when the house wives did their shopping. He nodded to a few of the ladies, and one or two nodded back, but most were too awed by his bizarre appearance to make much in the way of greeting.

The school looked as dismal today as it did yesterday, and he was once again seized with the desire to bolt in the opposite direction. A car honking at him convinced him that having his moment of paralyzing indecision might be better done in a location not centered in the middle of the road.

He steeled his dignity and stepped inside. There weren't as many students as he was expecting, so that was one thing that was going right today. A smaller classroom meant fewer teenaged egos to manage and less work for him.

He checked in at the office, procured a map, and set off for his classroom. He only had one, and he was responsible for teaching all four grades, from freshmen to seniors. Repeating the grades in his head so he wouldn't accidentally call them by their British equivalents, he didn't notice the same boy from the bar walk past him with his mouth open.

He had half an hour to go over the previous teacher's study plan. Opening the folder, he raised his eyebrows at the usual modern borderline-perverted bullshit interspersed with a few classics. _The Scarlet Letter _caught his eye, and the always-present _Bleak House. _

"Shit," he muttered, "there is no way that I am teaching half of these…why does nobody teach the Greek classics anymore? And why is there no Lovecraft?"

But the lesson plan would have to be adhered to, at least until it reached its full course, and then he could design his own. Still grumbling, he went to the staff room with ten minutes until his first class and grabbed a cup of coffee. There were donuts and coffee cake in scant measures, but he knew that he had to watch his weight now to retain some semblance of a waist. It wouldn't do to resemble a beach ball with legs.

When he returned, he found half of his students already waiting for him. Ah, how pleasant; eager young minds.

He wished Hermione were here to give the welcoming speech and to introduce him like when they'd created the D.A. together. He never felt comfortable introducing himself, and accidentally calling himself Harry Potter would be unfortunate.

His students were staring at him as he set down his coffee and picked up the folder. At first he wondered why, and then he realized that he would've done the same thing if Professor Binns were one day mysteriously replaced with a Muggle supermodel.

Not that he was a supermodel, but still. The level of difference was roughly the same.

He cleared his throat, and remembered at the last minute to use his falsetto.

"Hello class! I am Miss Velma Hall, here to replace Mr. Schnachtner in lieu of his dismissal. Since this is my first day, I'm not going to bother with role call and assume that you were all so excited to see me here that you showed up without any prodding. Before any of you ask, I am British and am here on a sort of sabbatical. That is all I am going to tell you about my accent, so don't bother asking any other questions. Now, please pass these out," he handed the students in the front row the stacks of stapled sheets he'd assembled, "Inside you will find a brief description of the book you are supposed to have been reading, and a topic for you to write an essay on. There are five different topics, and yes you are allowed to switch them amongst yourselves, just make sure that your name is the one on top of the paper you give me."

There was a moment before the rustling of papers died down, and then the students simply looked to her for further guidance. She waved her hand, "Get on with it! What are you waiting for?"

A freshmen girl shyly raised her hand, "Um, are we allowed to ask questions?"

Velma blinked, "Apparently so, because you just did."

She blushed, but soldiered on, "Okay…I was wondering, are you going to force us to act out the scenes and our essays?"

Velma raised her chin and loftily responded, "This is an English class, not a Drama class. In my class you will speak grammatically correct English or not at all, and do your assignments; nothing more, nothing less. Deliberately speaking incorrectly may earn you a detention, depending on the level of insolence you use. Now, does anybody else have anything they have a burning desire to have answered?"

There was silence, and then someone whooped in the background. Velma smiled thinly and said, "I will permit that outburst, but keep others like it to a minimum from here on out. I expect those essays this Wednesday, so I'd start writing them now if I were you."

They were really very well-behaved students, she was pleased to see. There was very little whispering and nobody groaned like they did in Potions class. Either Muggle students were trained differently, or these were good kids.

His following class with the seniors went just as smoothly and he started to relax. He could do this.

At the end of the day, she packed up all the files in her desk to bring home so she could review everything in detail. Exiting her classroom, she walked down the hall and would've walked right out the door if she hadn't caught her name in a conversation a small group of straggling freshmen was having by the doors. He paused inside the shadow of the door and listened in.

"But she's so weird-looking!"

"Yeah, but she's really cool! She's pretty ugly, but she didn't make fun of us or try to be all cool like some of the other teachers. It's almost like she knows what it's like to be a student, but isn't going to try and acts like us. She isn't going to make us do anything embarrassing. Do you know what I mean?"

There was some sniggering, and one of the boys piped up, "I think you mean that you have the hots for her!"

"Ew! No way! She's so frumpy!"

"Yeah, but did you see the rack on her?"

The students walked away, and Velma grimly dug into her pocket for her cigarettes. At least there were no rumors about her really being a man this time.

He walked home in record time, and immediately drew a bath. While it filled, he stripped and then went down to the basement naked and retrieved a bottle of the vinegary wine. Carrying it back upstairs, he switched off the water before the tub could over-fill and sank into the water with a sigh. He removed the cork and took a long gulp from the neck of the bottle.

The steam made his mascara run down his cheeks in little rivulets, and he scrubbed it off wearily.

000

End chapter 9

So sorry I didn't update all weekend! I had house guests and was either pressed for time or pressed for sobriety. Neither are ideal conditions for the state of my grammar.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Whoa, dudes! This story is _10 fucking chapters long_ now! Time flies, I gotta tell you. Also, sorry about the confusing gender-switching titles last chapter. From now on, Harry will be referred to as a 'he' at all times except when seen from someone else's perspective, in which case the gender will be determined by whether or not he is posing as Velma at the time.

Chapter Ten

He woke up and sped through his grooming routine, happy that he was so used to turning into Velma that he barely had to think about the angle he held his wrist at when he swooped his mascara over his lashes. No longer nervous now that he knew what he could expect from his adolescent students, he was able to down a hearty breakfast with time to spare a visit to Deedee.

The damnable bird was still occupying the chicken coop perched on top of the house. He knew better than to startle him this time, and slowly opened the little door. There was a sleepy cooing sound, and then Deedee came hopping out and perched on his shoulder.

Just as he was thinking that maybe he'd been wrong about the bird's personality, a sharp beak snapped into his ear and started to tear. He shrieked and yanked Deedee off, flinging him away. The bird spread his wings and did a graceful circular swoop, landing on top of the coop's perked roof. He couldn't be sure, distracted as he was covering his bloody ear, but the angle of Deedee's beak implied a mocking smirk.

He glared and made a rude gesture at it.

Back inside, he cleaned and pressed a wad of toilet tissue to his ear until the bleeding stopped. Removing it, he tilted his head and examined the damage. It looked bad, and the skin around the wound was already starting to swell alarmingly and turn funny colors. He groaned and looked at his selection of Band-aids, wondering which one he could shape into something feasible. Eventually he had to tape a large wad of cotton over the entire ear when he discovered that the bite actually went almost half-way down the back side of the shell of his ear.

The end result was impossible to fully cover with his wig, and he looked like he'd gotten into a fight with someone who really didn't like ears. With barely enough time to get to work on time, provided that he had no mishaps with the treacherous muddy terrain, he dashed out the door. His umbrella flapped around him, and he peered at the sky from beneath its protection whenever he dared. To his relief, the clouds seemed to be almost spotty today, which might mean that it wouldn't rain as much today. He could handle overcast if he didn't have to be afraid of getting soaked.

Starting to hum a little, he made plans to explore the town today after finishing work. Maybe he could go back to that bar and see if the cutie from before was willing to buy him another drink?

000

He'd heard all kinds of crazy stories about the new English teacher, but he was going to suspend judgment until he had his class with her that afternoon. Besides, he was almost positive that he saw the same weird lady that he met at the bar last weekend when he was with Sam at his school, and he didn't want to lose the optimistic little flutter in his stomach that insisted that she was going to be his new teacher. He couldn't explain it, but there was something about that lady that stuck in his head. He didn't think that it was a crush or anything so immature, but there was definitely some kind of hook about her that made her come up in his thoughts frequently.

Scuffing his feet on the linoleum floor, he followed the rest of the Juniors to the English classroom. His school was pretty small, with maybe 300 students, so there weren't a lot of people he hadn't spoken to at some point. It was kind of comforting to know that, if he was ever stupid enough to become a topic of discussion, it wouldn't be by strangers. It was like going to school with distant cousins.

He took his usual seat near the back of the classroom where the best view out the window was, and got comfortable. Their new teacher wasn't there yet, so his classmates took the excuse to gossip about what they'd heard about her so far. He normally would've been gossiping right along with them, but ever since his transformation as a wolf they'd been distant from him. Very few members of the tribe knew what Sam's pack was really about, but the members of it were respected anyway. As one of Sam's friends, he was seen as separate from the usual social circles. It wasn't a nice feeling. Sure, he knew that he'd grow away from his high school friends eventually, but he hadn't expected it to happen before college.

He sighed and started to doodle on his notepad. He hated it here. Sure, they were his family and his tribe and all that, but it was like he didn't have anything in common with them anymore. His sudden blossoming into an entirely new species had given him much cause for philosophical naval- and star-gazing. Why were only some of them wolves? Why were some of them better as wolves than as people? Why now, and not when he was older? And finally, _why him?_

The pen broke through the paper as he dug it in sharper than intended, and the girl sitting next to him looked over. He smiled and she nodded before looking away. She hadn't smiled back. Almost nobody smiled at him anymore. Sam told him not to get upset about it, that the tribe was just a little nervous about them, but he couldn't get over it. He was torn between wanting to go back to before his transformation, before he even knew things like shape-shifters existed outside of bad movies and wanting to be a wolf all the time so that he could run away. He could disappear into the woods, and fight territory wars with the bears. It could be a beautiful life, but he couldn't leave his dad behind like that.

So here he was, stuck straddling two entirely different kinds of existence and feeling like if he had to do it for one more day he would explode.

At least he was getting a new English teacher. Mr. Schnachten was a total asshole, and nobody was going to miss him sneering at him anytime they so much as sneezed, much less asked a question.

The door flew open right on time, startling them into silence. The woman who charged in was definitely the same from the bar, but now he could see all of her, and in much better lighting. She was just as mannish as before, but now he could see that she had rather obvious curves that balanced it out, even though she was tall for a woman. Now that he thought about it, she could be a very successful dominatrix if she wanted.

She put her hands on her hips assertively and surveyed the class. She raised an eyebrow.

"What, no jeers or personal questions from you guys?" her accent was kind of throaty, and definitely foreign. It was kind of attractive, in a weird way. He squirmed a little in his chair, "I'm not messing about, kids. If you've got a question that isn't connected to your assignment, you only get the next five minutes to ask it until next year's welcome speech, if I last that long."

There was a pause, and then one of the boys Jacob was pretty sure was named Ken raised his hand. She snapped her fingers at him.

"Um, is Velma your real name or do you just really like Scooby-Doo?"

She snorted, "Oh, trust me, it's my real name."

Another hand came up, and then another. Most of the questions were ones Jacob had already guessed the answers to. He remembered what she'd said, about needing to get away from home and some kind of problems she'd had back there. He propped his chin on his palm and watched her drolly answering their questions. She looked pretty calm, not at all the type to randomly go on a sabbatical.

While he'd drifted off, the questions stopped and she got around to actually teaching. He was pleased to find that she wasn't going to lecture them, but instead passed out worksheets. This allowed him to finish his assignment faster and at his own pace. When he was done, he snuck peeks at her without being too obvious. There was something about the way she moved that was kind of fascinating. It was graceful one moment, and then the next she would jerk still and pop her hips out. He smiled. It was kind of cute, like she used to be clumsy or maybe injured one of her legs at some point.

Okay, re-thinking that made it sound totally not cute, but the point stood. It was cute regardless of how or why.

He dared to peek at her again, and saw that she had her glasses off and was polishing them with a cloth. She happened to look up, and met his eyes. Her eyes were green. Not just any kind of green, but _green, _green enough to be clearly spotted across the room.

His heart rate sped up inexplicably, and the skin under his fingernails itched. He bit the inside of his cheek as hard as he dared, not knowing what he was feeling. He didn't want to accidentally transform here of all places. He jerkily raised his hand, and then dropped it quickly before she could see. No. He wasn't going to make up some excuse to leave class. Sam kept telling him that he needed to practice holding back, and now was a perfect opportunity.

She had her glasses back on now, and the glare from the lenses hid her eyes. He felt the itch slowly fade from beneath his nails, and his shoulders relaxed.

What the hell?

When the bell rang, he gathered his things slowly, lost in thought. Why did he react so strongly just to seeing her eyes? Sure, they were beautiful, but lots of girls had pretty eyes. He couldn't rationalize it, and then his inner pervert wondered if he was just really attracted to her.

He nodded to himself, not caring how it looked. That made more sense. This would be highly embarrassing if his Pack members caught him thinking about her like that, since she was a teacher and looked like a guy with great boobs.

Just before he left class, he met her eyes again and this time the light wasn't in her eyes. His heart jolted in his chest and he hurried out. Suddenly he couldn't wait until Thursday, when he had his next class with her.

Ten minutes after school ended, he wandered through the halls slowly sipping a soda he'd gotten at one of the vending machines. They didn't have any at home, and he had a sugar craving that couldn't wait.

He passed by the English classroom, and almost kept going before his legs revolted and he pivoted. Sliding a little on the slippery floor, he pressed a hand against the doorframe and peeked inside. She was still there, standing in front of her desk and looking at the windows at the back of the classroom. He frowned, and then turned red.

She was _adjusting her breasts. _He wanted to look away, knowing that this would not help him stomp out his embarrassing growing infatuation, but couldn't. Tantalized, he watched as she dipped her fingers under her collar and pulled on her brassiere straps to straighten them. Swallowing, he left before she could turn and spot him.

Inside the classroom, Harry frowned at the reflection the fluorescents made on the windows at the back of the classroom. Just as he was packing up, one of his falsies slipped out of its cup and slithered down into his corset. He'd just spent the past five minutes awkwardly maneuvering it out and back into where it was supposed to be with the aid of the reflection. He straightened them one last time and nodded, satisfied with the results.

After avoiding his co-workers, he checked the window and saw that it wasn't raining, just like he'd suspected would happen that morning. Cheerful despite the long day, he nearly skipped out. He only had a thin light-weight satchel to carry today, so he opted out of dashing home to drop it off before exploring the town.

There really wasn't much to explore, but there was a small book section in the supermarket with a few classics mixed in with the $2 romance novels and popular books. He selected a Stephen King from the popular section, and would've left with only that concealed in his skirts if a small pot of violets near the registers hadn't caught his eye.

His house really could use some cheerful color, no matter how girly that sounded, so he picked them up. At the last moment he realized that there was no way he could stuff it up his skirt without crushing them. Grudgingly, he got in line with the other more honest customers.

Several feet away, Jacob watched Velma sigh and tap her foot, the violets held gently in her hands. He'd come here on the way back from school, realizing that they were out of more than just soda and that he might as well do his dad a favor and go shopping without being asked. He saw Velma pick out some flowers, and also spied one of the purple blossoms falling from the pot to lie on the floor.

He knelt and picked it up, sliding it surreptitiously into his pocket. When he got home, he stored it in his nightstand, even though it makes him feel like a stalker.

000

End chapter 10

Oh my goodness…Jacob is really just digging his own grave.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

He was about to head home, Stephen King digging into his crotch beneath his skirt, when he remembered that he didn't have fancy coffee at home and should get some. Apparently it was all the rage these days, and he didn't want to look behind the times. Heaven forbid that his Snape-like intimidation factor over his students shatter when he didn't know what they meant by 'caramel latte'.

There was a tiny coffee shop crammed between the one clothing store and an insurance company (why was there one on an Indian Reservation?). He stepped inside, and nodded to the pair of haggard old men perched at one of the tiny tables playing checkers. They probably never left. They nodded back, and he made his way to the counter where a woman was sitting with her feet up, reading the newspaper.

He cleared his throat, "Excuse me! Are you still serving coffee at this time or should I come back later?"

She looked up, and frowned but put away her newspaper. Bracing her hands on the counter, she lowered her feet and rose to a full standing position. Velma was a head taller than her, even though she was quite tall, not to mention shapely, for a woman. She nodded, "Yeah, we're serving. What do you want?"

"Well…I don't really know. I just want something caffeinated. What is popular here?"

She shrugged, "Lattes, tea, basic brewed…I don't think any drink is more popular than the others here. This town has some varied customers."

Velma surveyed the menu, and picked one at random, "I will have the cinnamon whatever-that-is. Whoever drew the menu up there has to be illiterate."

The barrister narrowed her eyes into tiny slits and crossed her arms.

He coughed and hurriedly stuffed his last $20 into the tip jar. She smiled, thinly, and got to work operating the coffee machine. He shifted his feet, boots creaking. It was very dim in here, and some news radio station was playing quietly in the background. The whirring of the machines stopped and his cup was set down in front of him. Just before he could take it, she shook some cinnamon on it from a shaker.

Reading her name-tag, he said, "How much do I owe you, Leah?"

"$12.56."

"What!"

She smirked, "I'm just fucking with you. It's on me. You've got balls, and you're new here. I'm guessing that you're the new English teacher down at the high school, right? I got to say, I kind of want to high-five you. You scared the shit out of my little brother."

He rubbed his chin, and then stopped when he remembered that he was wearing make-up, "Wait… don't tell me…you're Seth Clearwater's older sister? You have the same nose."

"Damn straight, I am. He came home all freaked out yesterday and told me that his new teacher looked like a dude in a wig, and that she was really intimidating. I didn't believe him at first, but now that I've met you I have to say that I agree. Did you have a growth disorder or something?"

He stuck out his tongue, "Did you have a rudeness disorder? They have medication for that, you know."

"Touché, asshole; Are you going to stick around and exchange more insults with me, or fuck off to wherever you came from?"

Velma considered for a few moments, and then set the bag containing his new violets against the counter and got comfortable leaning on it, "I think I'm having too much fun right now to leave."

Leah grinned and propped her elbows on the counter, pillowing her chin in her palms, "So, are you a lesbian too or should I not hit on you because you're seeing somebody? That could get awkward really fast, but to tell the truth I'm so super excited to see another lesbian in the area that I'd hit on you anyway."

He choked on his coffee.

000

It took him only five minutes to realize that he didn't know what to do with his weekend. The two and a half days stretched endlessly on in front of him, terrifying in their emptiness. His sub-conscious thrived on being occupied, or else he would lose his ability to suppress his bad memories and have a nervous breakdown…or something similarly heinous.

Sitting heavily on the sofa in front of the fire, he watched the rain fall and chewed his lip. He could go say hello to Leah, since she was his first acquaintance here who he actually liked, but he didn't really want to leave the house.

Getting up, he went into the basement and started sorting through the food stores. The grain was still there, and a grinder beside it for converting it into flour. Checking the shelves, he found yeast and oil and various other basics that he knew were necessary for making bread.

An idea occurred to him. He could make bread! Sure, it wasn't exactly the most exciting activity a young man could spend his weekend doing, but at least it was something. Taking the yeast, grinder, and anything else he could carry upstairs to the kitchen, he looked through the shelves until he found a dusty book with the words '_Bread-Baking for Beginners' _on it.

He laid it out on the counter and started flipping through the instructions, his eyebrows climbing at the amount of kneading required to properly prepare the dough. This shit was hardcore!

Bringing one of the grain barrels up the stairs proved to be impossible, so he had to compromise by filling metal bowls with the grain and bringing them upstairs that way, precariously balanced in his arms; Once he had the amount of grain required for tripling the recipe designed to make four loaves, he stopped to wonder what he was going to do with all that bread. It would go stale by the time he could eat all of it, so keeping it all was out.

He rubbed his chin and thought about it. What would he want somebody else to do with an excess of bread? And then it came to him. The homeless! There was always charity, and if all else failed he could donate it to the lunch ladies, who had to be tired of serving Wonderbread all the time.

But he couldn't just spend his weekend making boring bread. That would be unacceptable. He found cinnamon and sugar in the cabinets, but not much else in the way of spices. Maybe there would be some in the garden? He went out to look, and almost screamed when he found a small tribe of fairies congregated around the over-grown cabbages haggling with a rabbit.

They froze when they realized he was there, and then the rabbit bolted and the fairies dove for the bushes. He sprinted after them and caught one by the foot. Bringing it out as gently as possible, feeling the fluttery heartbeat beneath his fingertips, he examined the thing. It was obviously playing dead even though it was quivering with fear.

He was just pleased that it wasn't biting him, and took a moment to examine it. It was a breed he'd never seen before, with a thin malnourished body and limp dishwater-colored hair. It was maybe a foot high, if you were generous, with pointy fingernails. He ran the tip of his finger across the sole of its foot, and it giggled.

He smiled and gently set it down, still keeping a grip on its waist. The fairy looked up at him with wide yellow eyes, and made a chittering sound. He spoke slowly and in a soft voice, "Hey there…I'm Harry and I live here now. I'd like to get to know you, now that we're going to be neighbors. What's your name?"

It made the chittering noise again, and tentatively touched the fingers wrapped around its waist. Several of its friends came out of the bushes, some shielding themselves behind broad rhubarb leaves. He made sure to make no sudden movements and to keep his calm expression.

"Hey guys…are you hungry? I can bring you something to eat."

There was much straightening up at the mention of food, and several more scampered out and clustered around him. He smiled bashfully at them, wondering how they understood what he was saying.

A fairy that was marginally taller came forward and bowed.

"It is a pleasure to meet Deedee's new master. He has told us much about you. we were wondering if you could tell us over lunch why you dress like a lady."

Harry blushed, but agreed. Serving them slices of cheese and peanut-butter sandwiches, he explained his situation with the law, and learned that they were having trouble keeping hidden these days as well due to a new predator in the area.

When he left them to their own devices, a few followed him and hopped onto the kitchen counters to see what he was working on. He didn't mind their presence, and found them to be more than willing to operate the grinding machine simply because of its novelty.

Several hours later he got hungry for lunch and went to sit on the sofa with a bottle of wine and a sandwich. He dozed off shortly after turning on the fire, and took no notice of the fairies that crept inside and stole a few of the flaming coals to take back with them to their settlements.

Hermione poked her head through the fire and hissed at him. He jerked, coming out of his doze. He looked around for the source of his waking, and spotted her waving her arms from the fire place.

Immediately bolting to his feet, he knelt on the hearth and breathlessly asked, "What's going on? Did something happen?"

"Not in the apocalypse sense, but the Daily Prophet did an expose on you that I thought you might like reading, and since they don't sell the newspaper to convicts deep in hiding, I'm giving you my copy," she reached down and then handed the rolled up newspaper through the fireplace. He took it and nodded to her, setting it aside.

"Is there anything else you wanted to talk about? How is Neville?"

She sighed, "He's good, and so am I."

He frowned, "You don't _sound _good. Is everything still going well for you or did you have a fight? Come on, I'm all the way in America. It's not like I can slap you if you did something stupid."

"Well, in that case," she smirked, "I'm kind of seeing someone else now. Neville seems to be okay with it, but you know how he is. He could be suicidal, and none of us would know. I'm happy in my new relationship, but I still don't want him to be alone. It's like…I _know _that I'm just being insecure, but I can't help but worry that he's taking it a little too well and that one morning he'll just snap over toast and then everything will go to pieces."

Harry nodded, "I'm sorry that you feel that way, but as your friend I have to say that you need to get over yourself. Neville is a remarkably well-adjusted and attractive young man, despite his oddly intense love for flora, and I'm sure he'll find someone new soon enough. And if he doesn't, then that will be fine too. However, if he starts listening to strange music and spending too much time in the bath, let me know. I read somewhere that those are bad signs."

"Roger that, captain."

"Good; now, if that is all, I'd like some peace in which to wallow in narcissism," he waved the newspaper, "Oh, and do you want this back? I'd like to know ahead of time whether or not you're going to care if I burn it. Sometimes the press is just so wrong I have to get revenge somehow..."

"Or else you'll explode, yes, I know the drill. You can burn it if you want, just be sure to sacrifice some pigeons for better fortune in the future."

"I'll do that," he ended the fire call and stiffly got out of his crouching position. His calves burned, and he sank gratefully into the sofa, pulling out the newspaper and unrolling it. Dominating the front page was the same solo photograph from fourth year, with a surly look in its eyes and hair looking like a large bird's nest. He sighed at the feeling of bittersweet nostalgia the sight of his younger self brought on. It was hard to believe that that photograph was taken of him 6 years ago, long before he knew what people's intestines looked like strewn across a battlefield. Not that he was a better person now that he knew what that looked like.

The headline was **Fall from Grace**. He frowned, not sure how to react to that. Had he ever been in the public's graces? Did they even _have _graces? It seemed kind of unlikely, judging from the fan letters the paper bothered to print. Sure, a few days directly after killing Voldemort as an infant people probably liked him, and then people forgot about him only to have him come back 10 years later and proceed to get into some really weird and stupid situations. And then there was the whole 'going out with a bang' thing, literally.

_Harry Potter was and continues to be one of the most controversial figures of our time, even after his execution. From his enigmatic living situation to rumors of sexual abuse by the famed (and shamed!) Diplomat Albus Dumbledore, there is a lot of mystery surrounding the Boy-Who-Lived._

Harry moaned and massaged his forehead, wondering if he could really be masochistic enough to read the entire article. Skimming a bit, he caught the words '_psychopath'_ and _'childhood trauma made his mind more unstable as the years passed, eventually leading to his terrible public slaughter of an innocent Muggle man."_

"What? Does this lady have a psychology degree? She'd better hope she does, throwing around words like 'childhood trauma'," He sulked, sipping some wine. It wasn't even noon yet and he was already drinking, but he didn't feel like buying a more modern book on making bread yet which meant that he could get as drunk as he wanted. He skipped to the end of the article, which read,

"_But from the scant interviews we do have, his irrepressible confidence confounded the press until the very end. How could someone with such a tortured mind sound so sane?"_

Harry wondered what put them in any position to judge how he'd behaved during the Second War, mental breakdown or no mental breakdown. Screw this, he was going to go get that old-fashioned book and work his frustrations out kneading bread the old way.

Half-way through imagining that it was Rita Skeeter's face he was twisting into a bread braid, a fairy shyly tugged on his jeans and signaled that it wanted to help. He set aside some smaller balls of dough, and let the fairies make whatever they wanted. The poor things needed to do something fun.

000

End chapter 11

OMG, I just made Leah Clearwater into a foul-mouthed, coffee-serving lesbian. Nobody kill me. It had to be done.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Hello all! Sorry for not updating for a little while. I was busy (coughs)

Chapter Twelve

Everything was going pretty well. He took a bus to La Push and explored it on Sunday, lugging around a big sack filled with his carefully-wrapped bread loaves. There was a salvation army, thank god, and they had a food donation center. They accepted the bread with wide eyes, marveling at its quality. He wanted to donate money, but all he had left was enough for the bus fare home and some emergency cash in case something happened and he had to make a run for it.

He managed to go two weeks without acknowledging anyone more intimately than with a brisk nod as he passed them. Leah continued to prod him for dates and tease him about blushing when he visited her after work, and the fairies were excited every time he did anything with them, so he didn't feel the need to reach out to anyone else. At the end of the day, he could go home knowing that he would be unmolested (unless Deedee came down from the chicken coop).

Unfortunately, this only gave him more time to brood about the funny dreams he'd been having lately. They all featured mirrors in some form, with a man and a woman standing inside side-by-side. Both wore miserable expressions, and sometimes they spoke to him, begging and sometimes demanding that he choose a gender instead of sling-shooting between both.

He decided to compromise. He would invent a male alter-ego that he could use in public. Perhaps an equal balance of time spent between the two genders would fix the problem. His subconscious was probably just upset that he spent all day dressed like an old lady and all night loafing around the house naked.

Thank god he didn't have a problem with girl's restrooms, thanks to years of keeping Myrtle company in the perpetually flooded girl's loo.

After much consideration, he took the bus to La Push the next Saturday, again bringing his stock of bread with him to donate to charity. Once he'd relieved himself of the bread, he walked around until in the Salvation Army until he found some men's clothes that he could afford and that fit right. He had to hold them up to his body to check for sizing, since the dressing rooms were divided by gender and he didn't want to look too suspicious.

He checked for shoes, but they didn't have much of a selection and none of them were in his size. He would just have to buy some new ones. If someone from the Reservation saw him wearing Velma's trade-mark combat boots, it would cause some speculation about his identity that he would rather avoid. There was only so much that you could hide with make-up and a wig.

Sneakers procured, he headed home. The fairies waved to him from the garden when they saw him return, munching on the bread he permitted them to take. They were already looking healthier now that he was feeding them and offering his garden as a place of shelter for them when the predators got too close to their settlements.

Heading straight to the bathroom, he stripped, eager to try out his new identity. He washed off his make-up and carefully removed the wig. His hair had grown in the weeks since he'd shaved it off, and now a thin layer of black hair covered his head. He ran his hand over it, and smiled at the way it vibrated against his palm.

He didn't look a thing like the photograph of Ludwig Brink they continued to broadcast over the television. He tried on the clothes, sniffing them. They smelled musty, and one smelled like Cedar wood. The jeans were loose on his narrow hips, but they wouldn't fall down so he could live with it. The shirts fit well enough except for one that pinched him in the arm pits. He discarded that one and decided to tear it into smaller sections for cleaning rags.

Looking in the mirror and seeing himself looking normal and male again made him smile. It felt good to be a man again, a man with clothes and hair.

Though it was dark out, he didn't want to stay in. He ventured out into the woods, and walked beneath the moon. It was a clear night tonight, and thousands of stars twinkled down on him and the trees like diamonds. The air smelt clean and fresh, and joy swelled in his chest. He loved nights like these.

Letting out a whoop of joy, he started to run. He crashed through bushes and disturbed all manner of rabbits and raccoons without remorse. He ran until his lungs burned, and then he ran some more. The grass felt springy beneath the rubber soles of his canvas sneakers, and the wildflowers still smelt wonderful.

He was so happy to be alive, so happy to be free. There was nothing anyone expected of him, there was no dark shadow hanging over him. He could forget the past and stop worrying about the future and just run.

His legs ached and it was hard to breathe, but the joy stayed. He felt like he was floating a foot above the ground.

He broke through the cover of the trees and found himself on the beach. His eyes widened. He must have run as far as La Push! The water was beautiful in the light of the stars and the moon, which shone down on the waters like a giant spotlight. He wandered along the beach, sometimes stooping to gather stones to toss into the rolling waves.

He wished that he could feel like this always, that he never had to feel anything less than blissfully free. The only way things could be better now would be if his loved ones came back from the grave to enjoy the nighttime with him. He could point out the constellations he knew to his mother, wrestle with his father, and pick pretty stones for his beloved Ginny.

They were engaged in word when she died. He wanted to be with her always, and knew that she felt the same way up until the very last breath she drew in this mortal world. His eyes blurred, and he heaved a sigh. He wished that they could all be together again, and he wished that death would only kill bad people, leaving all of his loved ones behind.

Swiping at his face with his musty sleeve, he sat on a driftwood log and stared at the moon until it set. Then he walked quietly home, arriving just two hours before dawn.

It felt good to scratch his 5 o'clock shadow once again, even though he would have to shave it off come Monday. When he went to sleep, he was untroubled by dreams about his gender and dreamed instead about dancing trees and bird-women who wanted him to read tea-leaves for them.

If he'd known it would feel this good, he would've compromised between an ugly duckling by day and an insane nature-loving madman by night long ago.

000

His lucky streak avoiding co-workers ended that Monday. He was cornered by the Science teacher during his afternoon break just before his last period, and dragged into one of the lumpy sofas crammed into the staff room. It was deserted right then, since the other teachers were planning their next period in their classrooms.

Martin Strether was not an ugly man, possessed with laughing brown eyes and a thick head of hair despite his age. Harry guessed that he was almost 50.

"Now, Miss Hall, I think its time that we get to know one another. I know that you aren't the social type, and I don't blame you, considering what your options are here. Half of our co-workers are sadists, and the other half are apathetic to anything not pertaining directly to their paycheck. You are a refreshing breath of fresh air. Your age doesn't hurt, either," his eyes twinkled, and Harry swallowed, reminded powerfully of Dumbledore. Who was this man and why was he being so friendly?

"Uh..."

"Come now, you can do better than that!" Martin insisted, giving his shoulder a squeeze, "You're an English teacher, aren't you? Oh, I see," he smirked, "You're shy."

Harry squirmed, and hoped that Martin couldn't tell that his shoulder was unnaturally muscular beneath his dress. He didn't want his secret to come out just as he was settling in here and making sense of things.

Martin patted his shoulder and withdrew his hand, "Don't be shy, Miss Hall. I used to be a priest before I retired and took this job instead. I'm very good at being discreet."

His interest was piqued despite himself, and he asked, "You were a priest? What made you decide to teach science?"

Martin shrugged, "I wanted to prove that being a man of the cloth does not mean that you have to scorn science. I know very well that the church has a bad reputation when it comes to science, so teaching science is a way for me to prove my thesis that they exist together in natural harmony. After all, I believe that the world was created to be admired, so what better way to admire it than through science?"

Harry blinked, mascara-coated eyelashes sweeping his cheeks, "But…doesn't evolution argue against religion? If we evolved from apes, how could we be created by some divine being?"

He smiled, "Ah, but what they don't tell you in the books is that it is still a theory. It has about as much real evidence as the theory about us being grown by aliens."

"What?! No, that can't be right. It's in every museum and-"

Martin raised an eyebrow, "So? That is simply an extension of man's need to explain his origins. If the majority can agree on evolution, then that will be what they will make museum exhibits for. If the majority believed that we grew out of giant flowers planted by divine chickens, then we would see dioramas of that."

Harry frowned and reached unconsciously for his cigarettes. This was a very strange first conversation, but he was intrigued. Even if he didn't agree, Martin was interesting and had a rebellious streak in him that reminded him of the twins.

He was handed an ash tray, and he murmured his thanks.

"So, Miss Hall, now that I've distracted you enough to break the ice, why don't you tell me what made you decide to pretend to be a woman and teach English?"

He almost swallowed his cigarette, and stared at Martin. Recovering, he replied, "I don't know what you're talking about. I know that I am not the most feminine of women, but you are very rude to insinuate that-"

"You have an Adam's apple, and sometimes your falsetto cracks," Martin calmly pointed out, lighting his cigarette for him, "Don't worry, dear, I won't tell anyone. I'm just bored and curious. I could use some decent company, and you look like the kind of person with a story."

Harry smoked sulkily for several moments in silence, and then muttered, "You're sure you won't tell anyone?"

"Not a soul."

"Thank you."

Martin smiled and stole one of his cigarettes, "It's no trouble. Like I said, I could use some interesting company. We don't even have to talk about it if you don't want to. This isn't the best place to talk about it, anyway. That bastard Nigel Ferguson could come in here any moment."

Nigel wasn't popular; even Harry picked up on that. He was the only tenured teacher, and it'd gone to his head. He was a complete bastard. The other staff decided that the only way to get rid of him would be to murder him. It'd been seriously considered but nobody wanted to get caught in the act or have detectives tromping around the school asking questions.

The alarm went off, signaling that it was fifteen minutes until the bell rang. Harry stubbed out his cigarette, hesitated, and then shook Martin's hand.

"It was nice to meet you."

Martin nodded, "We'll have to continue this chat at some other time. Have fun indoctrinating the young into the literary frame of mind!"

Harry thought about Martin, and what it meant to have somebody on his side. If anything went wrong, he would kidnap him and all Hermione over to Obliviate him before he could spill the beans. He relaxed, and focused on teaching.

000

End chapter 12


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

They continued their conversation after work, Martin escorting him to his car. He drove out of the Reservation and into one of the neighboring towns, Forks or Spoons or something like that. There was a diner that Harry hadn't eaten at yet there, and Martin insisted that he would pay for whatever Velma wanted to order.

Starting off with coffee, Harry slowly reviewed the doctored story he was going to give the ex-priest. When he was ready, he sighed and said, "Well, it's a long story. How long can you listen?"

Martin shrugged, "For all eternity, if need be. I might've left the cloth, but I haven't broken my vow of celibacy. There is no eager wife at home or family impatiently tapping their feet at me."

He smiled, "Why not? You're not unattractive."

Martin winked, "I'm waiting for someone, and if they never show up, I can live with that. I never had much of an inner playboy, so it isn't much of a loss. Sure, I want company every once in a while, but I have no burning desire to obtain female companionship."

"I see," Harry sipped some coffee again, "Let's start at the beginning. My parents were murdered when I was barely one year old by a psychopath, but my life was mysteriously spared. The psychopath disappeared that night and stayed hidden for a little more than ten years. I was sent to live with my closest living relatives, my aunt and her husband, who hated me because of who my parents were-"

"Wait, why did they hate you because of who your parents were?" Martin interjected.

"Oh! Well, my dad was the only son of a very old family and quite rich because of it. He was also ambitious, and made a lot of money in his own right through the stock market before his death. My mother was the crown jewel of my aunt's family, being very beautiful and rather intelligent. She was nominated for several intellectual awards that I've forgotten the names of. I don't remember them very much at all, being an infant, but I can attest that my parents were good people and didn't deserve to die the way they did."

"I understand. I am sorry for your loss."

He smiled wanly, "Cheers for that. Anyways, I went through the normal school routine and such, showing no signs of being supernaturally ambitious or beautiful like my parents, so I didn't draw a lot of attention to myself. But then one day I got a letter from the same school for gifted students that my parents went to. They'd paid for my schooling in advance, when my mum was still pregnant with me, so there was nothing for it. I went, and I met my best friend on the train. Needless to say, my life was much improved from then on except for the summers, when I had to go back to my relatives, who hated me more than ever now that I was going to a gifted school."

Martin snorted, "Forgive my mirth; you just sound a bit like Cinderella."

Harry laughed, "You're absolutely right! I never thought about it that way before…they even had me do all the chores and such, while my cousin tormented me every chance he got. Anyways, everything was going great for the first couple of months at my new school, but I started to get nervous around one of my teachers, who always seemed to be looking at me funny. It wasn't the way a molester looks, though, so no worries there. On Halloween, some scary stuff happened and it came out that the teacher was actually the psychopath in disguise. He was plotting to kill me, although to this day I still don't know why he waited. From then on, some new attack would be made on my life every year I attended. They got more violent as the years went by, and my godfather, who'd been in prison up until recently and therefore an unfit guardian, died protecting me when I was 15. It was very traumatizing for me, and losing him still hurts."

"I suppose I was right when I assumed that you had a story…" Martin thoughtfully looked out the window, turning his mug slowly around in his hands, "I still don't understand how this led to you in a dress."

Harry coughed, "Well, what happened was, the psychopath had some followers. Okay, that's an understatement. He had the equivalent of a private army. There was a bit of a gang war, and my side won…mostly. In the process, I lost my best friend and my fiancée and a multitude of other people who I was very close to and considered my surrogate family. It was horrible, but the psychopath still lived. Eventually it came down to just me and him in a park, and I had a weapon and he didn't. I shot him."

Martin nodded, fire in his eyes, "And don't you dare tell me that you feel guilt for that. By biblical standards, you were perfectly within the law."

He smiled, "Thank you. I didn't know how you'd react to that, so forgive my reticence."

"There is nothing to forgive. That man deserved to die a thousand times, once for every life he took. Now, what happened next?"

"Nobody knew what he looked like but me, so to the authorities it looked like I'd just murdered an innocent man in public, and in cold blood. I was taken to court, and assigned the death penalty. Obviously, I escaped. I stayed with some friends until we figured out where I would go permanently, which turned out to be here. On the way over, one of the psychopath's minions tried to murder me. I fought back, and he was killed out of self-defense. It didn't look that way to the local authorities, and I was taken to court again, this time as the identity I was using to get away from the British courts. I made the mistake of telling my story to the psychiatrist, who pronounced me criminally insane. I escaped while they were transporting me, and here I am. I developed this persona from available materials, and it just kind of snow-balled from there."

Martin eyed him, squinted and tilted his head, and then asked, "_You _are that Ludwig Brink character they're hunting for?"

Harry paled, "Ssh! Not so loud!"

He snorted, "Goodness, this is quite the mess you're in. I won't tell anyone what you've told me, but I'm telling you right now that your life would make a bestselling book series. Have you considered writing an anonymous biography? Change the names and places if you want to make it 'fiction'. You'd fetch a killing, pardon the expression, and get the emotional release of getting your pain onto the page."

Harry thought about it. He needed more money, didn't he? As an English teacher, writing a book wouldn't seem all that suspicious. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. He clapped Martin on the shoulder, "You're brilliant."

Martin beamed, "Thank you. Now, I am hungry for dinner. Will you eat with me?"

000

Jacob patrolled longer than he should have. He knew that as he prowled through the woods, but he couldn't bring himself to assume human form again. As the days went by he liked his human life less and less. Without friends and the social activities that'd distracted him at first, he could see how boring and pointless it was. Why did he ever care about what his peers thought about him, or how he was going to score on a test? There were so many bigger problems.

The only reason he hadn't dropped out of high school yet was because his dad wanted him to graduate. He was thinking about counter-arguments to him attending college like his sisters did. He just couldn't see the point. He would spend the rest of his life protecting his tribe as a wolf anyway, so why bother to put up the pretense of other options?

He caught the scent of a raccoon and snapped his jaw forward, cracking its spine. Staying up late required some sustenance.

And then, on top of his confusion about his future, he got a crush. If he was lucky, it would go away before he broke his mind trying not to think about her when he was around the Pack. It was a good thing that they could only hear the surface thoughts, or running commentary, of each other's minds or else there would be some serious drama going on. The Pack members had grown up together, with or without acknowledging each other, and there were a lot of things that'd been done in the past that could really hurt them if they were brought up again.

Leah was a perfect example, and she didn't bother to suppress just what she thought about their Alpha. No one wanted to be on patrol with her, but Jacob knew that she only thought the way she did because of how badly she'd been hurt, and volunteered to patrol with her when they paired up. He could feel her appreciation even if she didn't say anything.

He hoped that, with time, she would heal from her grievance, but he knew that that was just wishful thinking on his part. What happened with her and Sam was one of the reasons he was so nervous about having a crush on Miss Hall. If he imprinted on someone else, he didn't want there to be any lingering strings between them (not that she would date a student).

When the sun started to peek through the trees, he knew that he'd overdone it. He could go home and catch maybe and hour and a half of sleep before he had to go to school. Bounding home, he transformed and slipped through his bedroom window naked.

He fell into bed, falling asleep before he could think to set his alarm.

It was half-way through the last period of the day before he woke up, and he yelled when he saw what time it was. Bounding to the shower, he washed the mud and grime off of him in record time and dove into his clothes.

He had to park farther from the school because all of the nearer spots were taken, and sprinted across the parking lot. The security guard shook his head at him and asked him why he even bothered to show up so late in the day.

Jacob would never admit it, but he _really _didn't want to miss English that afternoon.

The entire class stared at him when he opened the door with enough force to make it slip out of his hand and slam against the door. Miss Hall frowned and gestured for him to come in. He did so, sheepishly retrieving the door and closing it behind him.

Miss Hall pointed at him while looking at the rest of the class, "Do you guys see how late he is? Yes? Good. I want you all to know that he is going to get detention, with me, after class. If any of you think about being late, you'll get the same treatment."

There was a terrified nod from the students, and she jerked her head at him to go to his seat. He sat; his face was hot. This was so embarrassing!

Then his brain cheerfully pointed out that he would get to be alone with her for however long the detention lasted, and his mood rose. He took notes on what little she said, trying to keep his leg from bouncing with excitement.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of school, he gathered his things and walked to the front of the classroom. Miss Hall didn't look up, obviously waiting for the other students to leave before she assigned whatever he was going to do.

They were finally alone, and she set down her pen. Looking up, she smirked, "You look like you had a rough night, Black. Go have a seat, and work on this," she handed him the work for that class; "I'd hate to see you fall behind. You've got a good grasp of comprehension."

He smiled at the compliment, doing his damnedest to keep it together. He clenched his jaw, not knowing what would come out of his mouth if he opened it. The homework was easy, and went by quickly. As he worked, Miss Hall reviewed what was on her desk and appeared to be grading essays. He peeked at her when he completed the assignments, admiring her small ears and the way her lip curled with contempt when she read what he guessed was a particularly inept essay. Peeking lower, he could see that she'd crossed her ankles beneath the desk, the slight splay of her knees hitching the skirt up a bit. She had very nice calves, what little he could see of them. They had well-developed muscles, the kind of legs that liked some exercise.

Since the transformations, he'd noticed his tastes in women shifting. Sure, Bella was still pretty last he remembered, but now he couldn't imagine dating her. He would snap her in half one day by accident for sure. All it would take would be one second of inattention. Now, he preferred thicker women who wouldn't break easily. In a perfect world, he would find someone who loved the woods as much as he did and who wouldn't be afraid of his wolf side.

She finished and looked up, seeing that he was done as well. She smiled a little and took a sip of what he assumed was coffee.

"So, what did you do last night? I'd like to at least know what kept you away from my class for so long."

"I took a walk in the woods, and got kind of lost," he unfolded his arms and relaxed into the chair, "It's really embarrassing, because I normally know the woods like the back of my hand."

"I see. I guess that _is _pretty embarrassing."

They were quiet, momentarily out of topics. Jacob worked up his nerve and asked her what she liked to do in her spare time, when she wasn't teaching.

"Me? Well, I like to do lots of things. I like to take baths, the hotter the better. I like to read, obviously, and I have a garden that I'm planning out. I want to plant vegetables and some hardy bushes; nothing delicate, though, because I'm not the most responsible person and I forget to water my plants sometimes. Oh, and I intend to practice with a shot gun as soon as I have enough petty cash to spare for one. And last but not least, I thoroughly enjoy getting pissed."

He frowned, "You like to get angry? Why?"

Her eyebrows went up, "What? No. what does anger have to do with it?"

"You said that you like getting pissed…" Jacob helplessly tried to explain. Were you allowed to swear around teachers? Was this some kind of elaborate trick? From what he'd seen of her, Miss Hall had a sneaky streak. It was kind of fascinating, and he wondered if she'd been a rebel when she was a student. She didn't seem like the rule-abiding type, despite her conservative (very conservative) clothing.

She seemed to be thinking, and then she gasped in realization, "Oh! How could I forget? 'Getting pissed' means getting drunk in England. Sorry to confuse you. I forgot that it meant something a little different here."

He laughed, and she chortled a little as well. His watch buzzed, signaling that it was four o'clock. She noticed the time as well and stood.

"Here, I'll walk you to the door. I can go home now anyway. Those essays didn't take very long at all."

She stood and tried to step over a stack of books that were piled on one side of her desk. She failed, and tripped, falling on her face. Her leg twisted, and she groaned. Her skirts hiked up a little, and he could see a rent in the back of her stocking that would normally be covered by her skirt. He fantasized about how it got there, and then hurriedly stopped thinking about it when he realized that she was still on the floor.

She was heavier than she looked, but he helped to her feet without trouble. She leaned on her desk and thanked him. She tried to stand on both legs, and yelped, hopping onto the desk.

"Ow, ow, ow!"

"Are you okay? Does it feel broken?" he asked, reaching out to steady her. She shook her head.

"No, I just twisted one of the muscles in my leg. It'll be fine in an hour or so if I don't bother it and put some ice on it later," she reached down and massaged it, wincing occasionally.

"Well, do you want me to walk you to your car? Can you drive with the other leg?" he couldn't just leave her there, looking adorable and just a little bit helpless.

"I don't have a car. I walk to work."

"Oh, then in that case I'll drive you home. Come on, let's go. Is that the bag you need to take with you?" he gestured and she nodded. He shouldered it, made sure he had his backpack, and then held out his hand, "Do you want me to support you by your shoulders or your stomach?"

She slid off the desk, keeping her injured leg bent up like a flamingo, "Waist would be better. I landed on my shoulder as well, and I think it might be bruised."

They moved awkwardly through the empty halls, and he asked her if she wanted to check with the nurse quick before they left. She shook her head and claimed to have a first aid kit at home that would be sufficient.

It was pouring rain when they stepped outside, so Jacob left her under the awning with their things while sprinting over to his car, which was still parked in the farthest spot. He drove it close, and then helped her inside. She was wet despite the awning, and her teeth chattered.

He turned up the heat, and smiled over at her. "Sorry in advance if I jostle your leg. The Rabbit has a shift system."

She waved a hand flippantly, "Don't apologize," she smirked, looking around at the car, and then sang a few words of Kurtis Blow's song 'The Breaks', "_He didn't say that his Cadillac was ten years old…"_

"Hey! I love this car!"

She just laughed at him and made light conversation about his family in between directing him to her house. He was surprised at how deep into the trees it was. The road was little more than a broad dirt path.

Her house had a sloping roof that was missing a few tiles. The front steps had once been painted green, but the paint was mostly gone now. Comically perched on top of the house was a chicken coop. she saw where he was looking and grinned. It made her look almost like a man.

"Don't worry; I don't have any chickens up there. Just a friend's pet parrot, who I suspect is descended from the Devil."

He was surprised. He hadn't pegged her as the type of person to watch other people's pets. She opened the car door, and he snapped out of his reverie. Grabbing her bag, he circled the car and helped her up the steps. She smiled at him, leaning against the doorframe.

"I can't thank you enough. This was the strangest detention I have ever experienced, but I have to say that it was memorable. Say hello to your father for me!"

"I will," he descended the stairs. At the last moment he waved and called, "Good-bye, Miss Hall!"

"Good-bye, Mr. Black!"

He drove away slowly, not wanting to have an accident in the muddy confines of the woods. He watched her through his rearview mirror, seeing her limp inside and shut the door behind her.

000

End chapter 13

HA! More direct contact between the unfortunate protagonists of this story.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: We are close to 300 REVIEWS! I am super impressed with you guys.

Chapter Fourteen

Leah berated him when he showed up soggy on Wednesday afternoon, upset that he'd disappeared for two days in a row without notice. She railed at him from behind the counter, apron dusted with flour from the scones she was making in the back room.

"You bitch! How dare you scare me like that? I thought that I'd said something that upset you or maybe that you'd gotten into trouble!"

Harry put some money into her tip jar, even though it would bankrupt him soon, "I'm sorry, Leah, but a co-worker snatched me on Monday and I hurt my leg on Tuesday. One of my students had to drive me home!"

Leah seemed appeased, "Oh, fine. Why are you still limping? Did somebody bruise your cervix?"

He flushed, and wished that he could stop doing that around her. No matter how hard he tried, she always managed to make some kind of comment that would throw him off his game. He shook his head, "No, nothing like that. I think I tore something."

She frowned, "Then why are you walking around? Doesn't that hurt?"

"I can take a little pain," he replied, sounding a little smug despite himself. She leered and leaned over the counter, invading his personal space.

"I'll bet you can," she murmured, "Let me guess…you like girls with nice, _long _fingernails?"

He opened his mouth, scandalized, "Are you always such a pervert?!"

She shrugged and winked, "Only around you, babe. So…since you left me all by my lonesome for a few days, how do you feel about making it up to me?"

"How?" he sighed wearily, "I can't tip you any more. I'm strapped for cash, you know. There's only so much I can sacrifice to you to appease your wrath."

She laughed and leaned in even closer. He could smell her shampoo, which was some kind of pleasant flowery kind, not too strong and not too chemical-laced. She raised an eyebrow and asked, "How about dinner? It'll be my treat."

Oh. He didn't know that her flirting had been serious. He'd assumed that she was just messing around. It couldn't hurt to have dinner, have some company-

No! What was he thinking? He couldn't go on a date with her! What if she felt him up, which he wouldn't put past her, or he did something on their date that made his gender obvious? You could fool students and co-workers, but a woman in close quarters was something different.

What came out of his mouth instead of the strong-worded rejection he'd had in mind was a meek, "Uh, sure. When?"

"How does tonight work for you? You can either wait around here for the next three hours, or head home and get changed if you want to. Just give me directions to your house if you're going to use Option B."

He thought about it, and decided that a bath would be nice, "I think I'll go deal with some stuff at home. I'll see you in three hours?" he took the piece of paper she handed him and wrote down directions, glancing up at her when she reached out and lightly touched his shoulder. Her smile was a touch shy for the first time.

"I'm looking forward to it."

Did this count as leading her on? He couldn't help but wonder as he walked home if he'd made the right decision in saying yes to her. Nothing serious could come of it that was for sure. He wasn't a real woman, and Leah was a lesbian. He was a wanted criminal with some serious personal baggage, and she'd also been through some kind of bad relationship that'd seriously changed her. She hadn't said anything outright, but he could tell. Her eyes looked like Hermione's did in the first six months following Ron's death, the months when he watched her as much as he could spare, terrified that she would kill herself out of loneliness.

He would just have to make it clear that he wasn't interested in anything more than dinner, but do it gently. She didn't need to be hurt anymore.

As soon as he was able, he started running water for a bath. He locked the door, a new sense of paranoia shooting through him, and stripped. Sinking into the water, he stared up at the coils of macaroni steam as they disappeared into the weak gray light from outside.

He sighed, closing his eyes and letting the tension of the day float away. After his date tonight he was going to go wandering as Harry again.

When he got out of the bath, he wasn't sure what to do in the intervening hours between then and her arrival. Bored, he sorted through his clothes and found a dress that was nicer than the others. It had lace on the sleeves and collar, and mother-of-pearl buttons that shimmered when he moved them in the light. Paired with the lace stockings he'd bought on a whim, it would look almost sexy, in an 18th century librarian kind of way.

He wriggled into the dress and made sure that his breasts would behave themselves. His hip padding usually didn't give him any trouble, and lacing the corset was easy. The breasts were the only part of his costume that had any tendency to be unwieldy. He still wasn't satisfied with the way they moved when he walked, either. They didn't bounce properly, but he supposed that there was only so much you could do with falsies.

Once dressed, he took special care with his make-up, applying extra mascara and the darkest shade of lipstick he had. He normally stuck to neutrals or even pink if he was feeling daring. The red made his mouth look like a bloody slash in the midst of his pale face. It was kind of startling. He pursed his lips and then quickly stopped. He might dress like a lady, but that didn't mean that he had to lose sight of his masculinity completely.

Even now there was still an hour before she was expected. He cast around for the book he was reading earlier, the one on outdated sex fetishes, but couldn't remember where he'd left it. He flung up his hands and went into the kitchen. The note paper he'd stolen last time he was in La Push was still on the counter where he'd left it, crisp and clean in its plastic covering. He picked up a pen thoughtfully, remembering what Martin said about a biography.

It was worth a try, and it couldn't hurt to get some of the memories out of his system.

When Leah barged into his home without knocking, she found him sitting on the sofa with his feet tucked under him, scribbling on a legal pad rapidly. The tip of his tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth. She smiled at the sight and cleared her throat to get his attention.

The pen paused and he looked up, seeming surprised to see her there.

She spoke up before Velma could say anything, "Hey, are you ready or do you need to finish? Our Reservations are for eight-thirty, so we have tons of time."

"If you wouldn't mind waiting a moment…?"

She walked into his kitchen and looked through his cabinets until she found the glasses. She poured herself a glass of water and gulped it down before answering, "Yeah, take your time. It doesn't matter if we're late anyway. It's just this little Italian place in La Push, and I had a snack at work so I'm not starving."

Velma nodded and bent back down over the legal pad, the pen scratching busily away. Leah wandered around the house, peeking into rooms and opening closets. The first room she found was the bathroom. It was still steamy in there, so she assumed that Velma either bathed really recently or liked her showers lobster-red. There were books on most of the surfaces, and on a wide range of topics. She found one on old-fashioned sex fetishes in the bedroom, which didn't look like it was used a lot. She could only guess that Velma slept somewhere else and just kept her things there. Peeking out the window, she saw the overgrown garden. There was a pair of rabbits on separate sides of it, facing opposite directions and munching on the weeds that grew there. She smiled and tapped the glass to startle them.

They fled, and she went back to the main room just in time to catch Velma stretching her back. She flexed her neck up and thrust her lower half back, emphasizing her hips. Leah leaned on the wall and watched without shame. There was something so comfortable about Velma. There were no other lesbians in her tribe, so she didn't bother to check the local females out, which left Caucasian girls. Unfortunately for her, almost all Caucasian women seemed to be supernaturally self-conscious. Everything from hair to body type to weight to basic personality were over-analyzed and categorized. Leah could barely stand it.

And then one day Velma came sauntering into her shop, wearing an absolutely _ridiculous _dress and didn't seem to give a shit about what anybody thought about her. And Velma wasn't ugly, either. At first glance she seemed to be, but if you looked again it was easy to see that she had strong cheek bones and beautiful skin, not to mention her eyes. If you caught her without her glasses on, you were fortunate enough to see the biggest, greenest eyes to ever exist.

She'd wanted to get to know her ever since she saw her, to find the mystery between the pain that sometimes clouded her expression and the irrepressible confidence that poured off of her in waves. And yeah, she had a little bit of a crush too, but she could dismiss that if Velma wasn't going to reciprocate.

"Are you ready?"

Velma nodded, continuing to stretch for a few more seconds. She deflated suddenly, dropping her arms to her sides, "Let me grab my raincoat and then we can go."

"What, no purse?" Leah teased, following her to the hall closet. Velma shrugged, pulling on the coat and arranging the hood over her hair with care.

"Will I need one? I don't have a driver's license, I don't have a cell phone, and I don't have any money. I have my lipstick in my bra, so that is takes care of the worldly possessions I'm taking with me."

Leah led the way out to the car, letting Velma lock the house behind them. When they were seated inside the car she nodded to her, "I'm impressed. I didn't know you were so low-maintenance."

"Yeah, well, I've lived through some emergencies. It's kind of hard to go from having nothing to carrying around a ton of shit you don't need."

Leah started to drive down the dirt road towards the Reservation, "Oh? And I suppose that lipstick is useful in emergencies?"

Velma laughed and jabbed her with her elbow.

As they drove to La Push, he started to relax. It wasn't awkward being with Leah at all. She didn't tease him too badly, but just enough to keep his interest piqued. They didn't have any tense pauses between topics, and Leah kept her hands to herself for the most part.

He was surprised when they finally parked, almost forgetting that they were heading somewhere and not just driving around for the hell of it.

"It's about a block's walk, so you'll need to put your hood up again," Leah thoughtfully pointed out, zipping up her jacket.

"Okay," they stepped out, and sprinted to the restaurant. Once inside, Velma locked eyes with the wide-eyed waitress manning the table. She looked from Velma's eccentric dress to Leah's very masculine wardrobe and sighed.

"Table for two?"

They followed her to a nice booth out of the way of the rest of the patrons.

Leah somehow managed to not play footsie or molest Velma in any other similar fashion throughout their meal. She was very polite, though he could sense that there was something in her eyes, something she was trying to figure out. He sincerely hoped that it wasn't his gender.

Over dessert, her shoulders straightened and he internally braced himself. He knew that she was about to say what was on her mind all night.

"Velma, babe, how do you feel about me?"

He froze. Shit. She _would _ask one of the most confusing feminine questions on the first date. He took a bite of tiramisu and ordered himself to calm down.

"I don't know yet."

She smiled faintly, "I know, but…I guess what I'm trying to ask is, do you want to be friends or should we do this again and see what happens? Please understand that I don't want to pressure you at all, I just want to get all of this out in the open. I know we're both thinking about it, so there's no use in denying it."

"Oh, well, in that case I'd really rather be friends. I don't know if I can handle a relationship right now."

"Okay. Thanks for being honest with me. I had a really good time with you tonight, and I'm glad that we're friends. You've probably noticed that there aren't a lot of other women around that I can devote myself to."

He laughed, "Yes, I know what you're talking about. Are you ready to go, or are you actually going to eat that frosting?"

She'd twisted the frosting from her cake into various shapes as they talked, and its current incarnation was some kind of furry creature with pointy ears.

"Nah, I'll leave it."

They drove home in comfortable silence, and Leah kissed him on the cheek when they pulled up to his house in the gloom of the forest.

"Bye," he half-whispered, wriggling out of the car and landing on the ground. She whistled when his skirt flipped up a little, and he stuck out his tongue.

As soon as he was sure that she was gone, he gave a little whoop and dashed inside to get changed. He was a little tired from the heavy food, but eager to wander the woods anyway. He just wouldn't go quite as far this time.

The sky was overcast tonight, and there was a bit of a drizzle. Night animals chattered around him, and he fished into the pocket of his raincoat for the mint he'd snagged at the restaurant.

A song Ginny used to sing in the bath came to him, and he found himself singing it aloud, trying not to miss her too much.

"_Let the world slide, let the world go_

_A fig for care and a fig for woe_

_If I can't pay, why I can owe_

_And death makes equal the high and the low-"_

The blow came out of nowhere. One moment he was happy as a bird and the next he was flat on his back with something large and furry on top of him. A low growl rumbled out of the creature, and the moonlight flashed on sharp teeth.

He nearly swallowed his mint in his fright.

000

End chapter 14


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: The song last chapter is credited to Robertson Davies as my original source, but further research proved it to be an English proverb. How lucky for me!

Also, sorry I was missing for a while, but I had to prepare for and then attend a debate tournament that lasted a couple of days. I just got back Friday night.

Chapter Fifteen

The weight on his chest from the beast was immense, and it grew harder and harder to breathe as the seconds ticked by. The darkness of the forest masked what exactly was on top of him, but he could feel claws flexing into his skin. He couldn't breathe, and the beast was still as well, its hot breath huffing over his cheek.

His instincts from the war kicked in as he started gasping for breath, vision swirling even worse than it already was. His glasses were missing, knocked loose by the force of the beast's pounce. His flashlight dug into his thigh, still in the pocket of his raincoat. Why hadn't he brought it out earlier? Maybe then he might've been able to see this coming. He gripped the nearest appendage of the beast and jerked, hard. It howled, and he knew that he should've disconnected the limb at the least and broken it at the most.

Rolling out from under it, he got to his feet and tried to make a run for it. He nearly ran into a tree, the brush of leaves against his face stopping him just in time. A split second of indecision about whether or not he could make it home without his glasses was chance enough for the beast to seize him again. This time he felt teeth as well as claws, tearing at his shoulder. There was a nauseating slurping sound as the creature started to drink the sticky fluid dripping out between the slashes it made with its nails.

He could feel his magic pulsing through his temples, making every joint in his body throb with energy. His muscle memory continued to jog his right arm, expecting a wand to be there.

He could die. He might die, if he didn't find some way to get to the knife strapped to his leg. There was so little light, and he was tingling with nerves and magic, blind as a bat. What would happen if he died? Would the police find his body, and call off the search for the missing Ludwig Brink, or would he not be recognized? Would this thing devour him, flesh, muscle, and bone until there was nothing left to find?

And what would happen to Hermione? Knowing her, she would blame herself for his death because it was her idea for him to go to America in the first place. Without him there, she might even kill herself. He shivered, thinking about what would happen if he lived through this and their situations were reversed. If she died, he might be tempted to commit suicide as well. The thought of being the last member of what Malfoy once mockingly called the 'Golden Trio' was soul-chilling. He barely managed to scrape by without Ron in his life, much less without both of them.

His shoulder burned with cold fire, and he could feel the warm spreading sensation of his blood exiting his body. It was sick, but he'd always liked the sensation of bleeding. It was like sinking part of your body into a bath that was the perfect temperature, warm and inviting and even comforting.

His eyelids fluttered, and his spine unconsciously started to relax. A sharp crackle of what couldn't possibly be anything other than magic startled him out of his stupor.

He was dimly aware that he was screaming as the silver-edged knife snapped out of its strap, slicing his leg almost to the bone in the process. It propelled itself through the air and straight into his hand. He gripped out of sheer instinct, and drove it into what he hoped was the beast's neck. It whimpered as the point caught at the skin, and then howled when he jabbed it hard enough to crack through a bone.

It didn't sound like any animal he'd ever heard before. It sounded disturbingly human, and the claws gripping him felt more like fingernails as sensation flooded back through his body. They rolled on the forest floor; his grip tight on its fur. He bit its back when it tried to throw him off, blood spurting over his hands. The strength of the beast was overwhelming, and he panicked at the thought of the creature escaping before he could kill it. He thought of spells, of learning them and performing them. He tried to concentrate on magic, any magic, and the crackling feeling came back. A wind picked up from nowhere, and the knife seemed to swell in his hands, pushing deeper and deeper into it until his fist, still clenching the handle, disappeared into the creature's body.

The beast became a dead weight, and the forest was still. The knife jerked out of his hand and went straight through and out the other side of the beast. It landed with a loud thump on the group inches from his head, plunged nearly to the hilt in the muddy ground. He didn't dare move, concentrating on breathing. He knew that he should roll out from under the beast to give his lungs room to expand properly, but the brief moment of sensation that he'd felt before had passed. He slowly pulled his hand out of the sticky body's interior.

Everything was numb, and he began to wonder if somebody coated him with latex when he wasn't paying attention. His mind told him that he was in pain, but his nerves wouldn't send him the message. What little he could feel through the heavy numbness was the warm trickle of his blood seeping out of his shoulder and his pectorals through his shirt, now torn hopelessly to shreds.

He would have to go shopping again, he supposed.

The nighttime ticked on, and the exhaustion from before made his eyes heavy. He wanted to sleep, but he couldn't even breathe in this position. He roused himself from his stupor, tearing away from the seductive warmth of his blood-letting, and rolled out from under the beast.

His boot crunched on something, and a sleepy grope proved that he'd found his glasses, and effectively crushed one of the supports. He sighed and plopped them on his nose, one ear piece sticking comically out to one side. There was blood on the lenses, so he took them off and tried to clean them. His shirt was soaked and his trousers were caked with mud from the struggle, though, so he finally had to slip off one of his boots and use his sweaty sock. It took him two tries to get the sock that wasn't bloody from his leg injury. The straps that kept the knife to his calf were little more than bits of leather cord and mangled metal buckles now. He cursed. Those straps had been expensive.

Vision restored, he squinted and tried to see in the heavy gloom of the forest. He caught a glint of the knife, which seemed to be lit from within with the remnant of his accidental magic.

He retrieved it and held it slightly apart from his body, not knowing if it would attack him. It vibrated like his wand used to, and a wave of nostalgia rushed through his fuzzy head, making him sigh.

The pale glow illuminated the beast's carcass. He couldn't tell what it was he could only see that it had a lot of grey fur. He thought he saw a hint of red hair, but knew that that was impossible. His mind was playing cruel tricks on him, as it often did when he was in situations like this.

Ginny would rise up like a ghost, and he would be reminded of how violently and suddenly she died. The old guilt would come back, and with it the nightmares and the depression. He swallowed and winced. The beast scraped his throat badly, and the first of the latex was beginning to wear off. The pain was already creeping in.

He set off at a stumbling pace for Bronwyn's cottage. If his body was going to revolt, he would rather that he be in bed with a bottle of brandy first. Nothing numbed physical and emotional agony like brandy.

000

End chapter 15

I know this is a half-update, but we're lucky I had the energy for this. I feel so drained.

I'm serious about the blood thing. Even though it hurts, it feels so warm! Someone needs to harness that sensation of perfect warmth and market it somehow...


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: As you will soon find out, the beast (which, by the way, is going to _stay _dead) had nothing to do with the Quileutes or shape-shifters of any kind. Thank you for all the reviews, even though they were concerned!

Chapter Sixteen

Next morning a warm drizzle came pattering, shimmering, and stretching in thin threads across the dark background of the forests depths. Harry didn't notice, wrapped tightly under three coverlets and staring fuzzily at the empty bottle of brandy that lay on its side, the last few droplets from it dripping onto the carpet. He blinked and realized that he'd fallen asleep with his glasses on.

The night before slowly drifted back into his memory and he recalled the horrible pain that'd grown worse and worse as he headed home. Patching himself up was excruciating, and he still wasn't sure if he'd done it right. The knife wound on his leg proved especially taxing because he had to self-administer what felt like a thousand stitches to hold the skin together before it finally stopped oozing blood. Cleaning it hadn't been a problem, and he supposed that he should be grateful that it wasn't infected on the walk home. Knowing his luck, he could've brushed past something poisonous and given himself a rash on top of everything else that was wrong.

His chest hurt, bruised from the weight of the beast and tightly bandaged to keep his shoulder together. The beast hadn't clawed as deeply as he'd thought, but he did loose a lot of blood. He looked around the room, spying the upended first aid kit by the door where he'd left it last night. His clothes were where he left them, thrown hither and thither as though he'd had some kind of passionate tryst. His shirt adorned the chair tucked beside the dresser, and his trousers were draped across the footboard of the bed.

Peeking under the sheet, he deduced that he was still wearing his knickers.

One thing he knew he'd learned from last night's experience, other than that his bleeding fetish was still alive and well, was that he needed to carry something more substantial than a knife from now on when he wandered the woods. A shotgun might be appropriate.

He was all for animal rights and non-cruelty towards creatures without voices (you couldn't be Hermione's friend without picking up some of her opinions about non-humans), but self-defense was self-defense. If it came down to him versus another creature again, he didn't intend to be as vulnerable as he was last night. His shoulder hurt like a bitch and he was scared to bend his neck for fear of completely tearing through the damaged tendons.

Since it was Thursday, he should've been at work hours ago. It was too late to show up now and act like nothing happened, so he would have to play sick. This meant that he could stay in bed and keep his weight off his leg. A shoulder injury could be borne, but a leg injury…that was going to hurt the next time he walked to work or anywhere else. Maybe he should get a car?

A better idea occurred to him, and he crawled out from under the covers to reach his trousers. Digging into the pocket, he pulled out the card with Leah's contact information on it. He couldn't remember why he'd put it there last night, but he was damn glad that he didn't have to look for it now. Hobbling out of bed and into the kitchen, keeping his bad leg bent so he wouldn't put any pressure on the stitches, he looked around until he found the telephone. He always forgot which wall it was mounted on. The telephone was confusing to use after years of the simplicity of fire-calling, but he managed.

It rang four times before she picked up.

"Hello? This is Leah Clearwater; what the hell do you want?"

"Leah? It's Velma Hall."

The ire in her voice vanished like mist in sunlight, "Velma, girl! I didn't expect you to call me from work. You're a bad girl, sneaking around behind The Man's back like that," she chuckled at her own joke, "What's on your mind?"

"Well, I kind of injured myself last night after you left. I didn't go to work. I'm at home, and I over-slept."

Leah gasped, "What? How did you get hurt? Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

A brief terrifying swirl of images of past experiences with hospitals and what would happen if he was brought into one under his female alias flashed through his mind. He would be discovered and reported to the police, Leah would hate him, and he would lose the security of his beautiful little cottage. He would have to go to _Muggle prison_.

There was no way in _hell _he was going to let that happen; he liked it here, and he planned to stay.

"I have a first aid kit, so no. I'm totally fine, I just don't want to walk to work tomorrow and maybe the day after because I don't want to mess up my stitches, but I don't have a car…"

She whistled, "Stitches? Ouch. If you're trying to be subtle about asking me for a ride, you can stop. My answer is yes. I wouldn't make you hook up with some creep for rides just to keep your leg together. Do you want me to come over after work to keep you company? I can make you something to eat or bring something from the shop. It's no fun cooking when you're injured."

He chewed his lip, weighing whether or not he wanted to risk faeries in his kitchen messing with his stove and cook books. "Yeah, sure; just call a few minutes before you get here so I can get out of bed and unlock the door for you."

"Absolutely. Sorry, I have to go now. There's a customer. See you later!"

"Later," he hung up, and then called the school and convinced them that he'd fallen down last night and injured himself badly enough that he forgot to set up an alarm to come to school on time. They understood, and said that there was already a substitute taking Miss Hall's place until he felt better. The only reason they were being so lenient was because nobody else wanted the job, he assumed, and they didn't want to lose their steady teacher so soon.

Responsibilities accomplished, he hobbled to the back door and whistled for any fairy that might be listening. They were very eager creatures when it came to repaying him for his favors. Being fairies, they knew the power that someone could have over them if they owed them a favor of any kind.

000

Edgar burst into the Cullen's house, splinters of wood lying on the ground where the door should've been. His eyes blazed black, and his lips were twisted into a snarl.

"What have you done to her?!"

Esme looked up from her magazine and tried not to panic at the sight of Victoria's new boyfriend. They'd brushed with her once, and agreed to stay out of each other's way even though she and Carlisle were well aware that Victoria had no intention of leaving, no matter what she told them to their face. She was too intent on avenging James' death, and that meant that she was willing to wait around for as long as it took for them to relax and let Bella become vulnerable. And the second Bella was unprotected, the vampire would strike.

Inside she was panicking, wondering who 'her' was, but aloud she replied, "I don't know who you mean. What happened?"

"She is dead! And I know it was you, or one of your family! No one else could've over-powered her," worship filtered through his face, "she was always so strong. I still can't believe it."

Her neurons fired logic at her, and she couldn't help but deduce that the 'she' he was referring to was Victoria. But that wasn't possible. It couldn't be. She was stronger than James, stronger than her husband, stronger than _Emmett._

How could she be dead? People like Victoria didn't just die. If they died of anything, it was always violently or insidiously.

"Where is the body?"

He choked, looking like he would've been crying if he was human. His face flickered so quickly between sadness and anger that her eyes ached from watching him, "It's in the woods. I couldn't move it…I was frightened."

It was shame that colored his words now, and she stood and led him to couch. Sitting beside him, she put her arm around his shoulders and softly crooned until he calmed down. This was the side of vampire relationships that they didn't tell the young ones. Logically, being a vampire should make relationships easier because the balm of time is more readily available. But the truth was that vampirism only intensified emotional attachments, never mind actual soul mates. Even though she was a monster, losing Victoria even hurt Esme's heart.

She squeezed Edgar's shoulder, and he sobbed dryly into her lap, collapsing against her like a little child. She could feel the air currents shifting as her family started to catch the scent of Edgar. Soon they would come downstairs, and then they would sort out whatever happened to Victoria.

Emmett was the first to appear, his fingers flying over the keypad of his cell phone as he contacted his wife. Rosalie appeared on the porch and stepped through the window. They sat across from Esme on the loveseat, where Alice floated over when she descended the stairs.

Jasper was feeding, and Edward was with Bella right now. She didn't want to disturb them, so she waved her hand when Emmett mouthed his question at her. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved her phone and speed-dialed Carlisle, telling him that there was an emergency.

He was there in half an hour, during which Rosalie and Alice whispered to each other and Emmett played some kind of game on his phone.

Esme's mind whirled the whole time, trying to think of a logical reason for Victoria's death, and what could be responsible. She couldn't think of anything, except maybe the Quileutes, but surely Victoria would've been canny enough to avoid their territory. Annoying the Quileute tribe was like putting your hand on a hot stove- no one with any sense does it deliberately, and Victoria did have a lot of sense. That was what made her so dangerous.

Carlisle sat beside Edgar when he arrived, who still had his cheek pressed to her knee. He was very still, and his eyes stared blankly ahead. She wasn't sure, but she thought that he might be in shock now that the initial emotional reaction was over with.

They watched him, no one wanting to break the silence that'd settled over the living room. Emmett put his phone away, and nodded to Carlisle.

He laid his hand on Edgar's shoulder, determined to join his wife in suspending his negative emotions towards the vampire for the time being.

Edgar stirred, and then slowly sat up. He covered his face with his hands, and made a low whimpering sound.

"Please, please help me. I don't know what could've killed her, but I want it dead. I want it to feel the same pain I feel now, the same pain that she must've felt. I didn't know who else to go to…there are so many of you, and there are no others of our kind here."

Carlisle nodded, "We will help you investigate whatever it was, not only for your sake but for ours as well. If there if something in these woods that can…well, something that can overwhelm Victoria, then I would like to know what it is."

Edgar nodded, and accepted a tissue from Esme. A clear viscous liquid was seeping out of his nose, "Thank you. If it helps, I already told my brother to come up here. I need him to help me get through this."

Esme squeezed him again, her eyes soft, "I know how much she meant to you, Edgar. We'll find out what took her away from you."

"Thank you so much," he whispered.

They were quiet, and then Carlisle put on a more professional demeanor and asked, "I know that the pain from this loss is still very raw for you, but I do need to know what condition the body was in when you found it."

"Well, I was out hunting this morning when I realized that Victoria hadn't come back to our camp yet. I went out to look for her, and I found her scent all over the dog's territory. I could smell their patrol patterns mixed in, but none of them intersected with her. From what I could smell, she was chasing a deer for sport and just didn't stop when it crossed the boundary line," he paused and dabbed at his nose again, "I found her in a clearing. There was a very funny smell there, like sulphur, salt, and fire but not quite. She was just lying there, in her favorite fur coat, dead. I thought she was playing around at first, but then I saw the…I saw the _hole _in her neck. She was stabbed with something, and I think that it might've been silver because the skin around the area was black."

Esme covered her mouth, shocked. This was serious. Someone had killed her deliberately, murdered her and then left her carcass there to rot and dissolve.

"The smell was so strong, I got scared and thought that whatever did it might still be around, so I left. I ran through the woods for hours…I just couldn't wrap my mind around what happened. I vomited up all the blood I drank this morning, and then I thought of you."

His eyes were meek and apologetic when he raised them to Esme's face, "I am sorry for accusing you, but I wasn't thinking straight. I realize now that your family couldn't be responsible because the silver would've killed you long before you could kill her, and you aren't those kinds of people. You aren't like other vampires. You're different, peaceful."

Carlisle smiled wanly, "Trust me, we won't be when we find whatever did this. Victoria and our family have our differences, but no vampire deserves to be hunted and killed like that."

When Edgar left to prepare his camp for his brother's arrival, the family sat in uneasy silence. None of them were happy about the prospect of a third party of vampires in the area, or some kind of unknown enemy. Whatever did this was strong and clever. They could kill other vampires just like Victoria, and they might get killed too for pursuing it.

Alice seemed puzzled, and Carlisle swallowed when he remembered that she only looked puzzled when she was trying to see something and couldn't. They were totally in the dark this time.

Hopefully this third party wouldn't target Bella like James and Victoria did. That was the last thing the poor girl needed.

0000

End chapter 16

So exhausted…but it is proper length! Ha! Take that, human limitations!


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Leah was pulling on her coat, prepared to go give Velma some company when Paul came into her coffee shop and jerked his head at her in the established signal of the pack members. She swore and asked if she could make a quick call before going on patrol. He rolled his eyes and gestured for her to hurry up.

She dialed Velma's number and waited impatiently for it to be picked up.

Paul made a 'hurry it up' gesture and she gave him the finger. Finally Velma picked up. Her voice was its usual scratchy whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, uh, Velma? I won't be able to come over today. A family thing came up. I will still be able to pick you up tomorrow," Paul opened his mouth to object but she gave him such a look that he shut up, "so don't answer the door naked or I might jump you."

She laughed huskily, "Okay. I'm sorry that we have to miss each other today."

Leah sighed, "Yeah, me too. Take care of yourself and keep that leg stitched."

"Will do, captain."

She hung up, and Leah did the same. She really wanted to see Velma today, since there were more truckers passing through the town than usual, and none of them seemed to understand that she wasn't interested when they leered at her. Granted, she wasn't really interested in anybody but Velma. She was living in the wrong area for the kind of person she wanted to settle down with, or even casually date.

Paul was practically vibrating with energy, so she decided to not keep him waiting any longer and went into the back room to shimmy out of her apron and shoes. Wearing her trade-mark tank-top and jeans, she followed him outside and through the town to the woods.

She could see Sam standing in the shade of one of them hulking trees that framed their Reservation. Her heart didn't move. When they were together, it used to expand every time she so much as thought about him. But after he broke up with her, it started to clench painfully tight. The pain gradually faded as the months went by, and she discovered that he was the only man she was ever interested in simply because of his natural strength of character. Now that she was no longer in love with him, she could see that she didn't want to date a man again. A few experimental glances at women proved her new resolution to be correct. Women were her new field of interest, and boy did she not regret that decision.

"Okay, what's going on? I was supposed to run the shop for another hour! God damn it, Sam, I hate losing business because of your stupid shit," she was lying of course, but she enjoyed making him feel guilty or just evoking emotional reactions. He was so uptight with their pack that she knew the boys appreciated her efforts to humanize their Alpha.

He growled but reined his temper in and started walking deeper into the trees. As they walked, three other members of the pack joined them and started undressing as they walked. She followed suit and internally felt relieved that the awkwardness she used to feel about being naked with a bunch of guys was gone. Not having sexual feelings for them helped.

"Jacob found something disturbing this morning during his patrol. A vampire was on our side of the boundary-"

"What!"

Paul's outburst was ignored.

"-dead. She was stabbed with something that turned her skin black. There were some lingering scents of blood, but the rain washed away any identity. We don't know if the blood was human, animal, or alien."

She snorted at the dramatic way he said 'alien', "So what are you saying, that there's some kind of maverick killer on the prowl? Shouldn't we be happy about this? It obviously doesn't like the leeches, whatever it is."

"That isn't the point," he replied through clenched teeth, obviously unimpressed with her flippant attitude, "she looked strong, and if something can kill a strong vampire like her without one of us detecting it in the area, then we need to be on our guard. Just because it killed a leech doesn't mean that it is on our side. It could be one of us dead next time."

"So what are we trying to accomplish today?"

"Look for anything unusual. Report to the nearest wolf if you have contact with something unfamiliar of any kind, even if you don't think it's a threat."

She rolled her eyes and phased, setting off in the patrol pattern Sam thought-ordered her into.

This shit was so stupid. She would definitely rather be pampering Velma right now.

000

Harry sagged back into bed and dabbed at a drop of water on his good leg with the sheets. Taking a bath when you have to keep one leg out of the water at all times is a difficult stunt, but he managed it. Relaxing back into the covers, he groped for his book and made himself comfortable. Now that Leah wasn't coming, he didn't have to get dressed or put on any make-up. It'd been a very relaxing day.

He fell asleep reading, the bedside lamp gently illuminating his bedroom.

Thanks to careful setting the night before, his alarm went off on time and he rushed out of bed, knowing that it would take him longer to get ready today. He pulled harshly on his shoulder as he was slipping into his dress and yelped. He was more careful from then on, though he still rushed. He was just biting into a piece of zucchini bread when Leah knocked. He hobbled over to the door and grabbed his bag.

Opening it, he was confronted with Leah as he'd never seen her before. She looked ready to fall over from exhaustion, and leaned heavily on the doorjamb.

"Hey babe," she greeted, her voice thick with sleep.

"Leah, what the hell are you doing here? If you're this tired, you're in no condition to operate a vehicle," he sternly grabbed her arm and guided her to the car, which was very difficult with his leg twinging every time he accidentally put pressure on it. He put her into the passenger seat and strapped her in. her hands danced over his, and she smiled sweetly.

"Aw, are you going to drive?"

He smirked at her and got into the driver's seat, "I should probably warn you that I've only driven once or twice before, and on a different side of the road."

"…Fuck."

"Exactly," he adjusted the seat and mirrors and then slowly started to back out of the 'drive-way'. The car grazed the side of a tree and Leah covered her eyes.

"I can't watch!"

Remarkably, the tree was as close to an accident as they got. He was overly cautious, but got them there in one piece. Remembering to drive on the right side of the road was the key to his success.

Parking the car in the teacher's parking lot, he shook Leah's shoulder to wake her. She started and then smiled when she saw him.

"Leah? Okay, don't leave. I'm going to go in there and get you a cup of coffee. The stuff they serve here is like acid with a thin coffee flavoring. It'll be disgusting, but it'll help you drive home safely."

"Okay. Thank you so much…I feel like such a douche. I was supposed to help you and you ended up helping me."

He shrugged, "I can take it. At least you aren't sobbing or drunk. Sleepy I can handle any day, but I have to be in a long-suffering mood to tolerate strong emotional outbursts or alcoholic whims."

She chuckled and agreed to behave herself while he scampered off as fast as he could go. There was still almost an hour until he had to be in his classroom, but he hurried anyway. Dropping his bag off in his room, he headed for the teacher's lounge. At first glance it seemed abandoned, for which he was grateful. His co-workers were probably sleeping in, the lazy fucks.

The cup was half full when someone smacked the back of his head lightly. He started and nearly spilled the coffee on himself. Turning, he saw Martin smirk at him.

He promptly turned back around, pretending to ignore the ex-priest as he filled the cup for Leah and made one for himself. Man cannot live on bread alone, after all.

"What do you want, Martin?"

"What happened to you yesterday? You're limping today."

He sighed and turned, handing the coffees to Martin, "If you want the liberty of using the Socratic method, you have to carry these for me. I'm scared I'll spill them."

"Fine, fine. And what do you mean by Socratic Method?"

He raised his eyebrows, "Answering a question with a question, silly. I thought you were some big-shot intellectual. I'm disappointed in you for not recognizing the term."

Martin held the coffee over his head and raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry, were you just insulting me?"

Harry just laughed and started hobbling towards the door.

"You know, your new form of perambulation really sets off those fake hips of yours."

Harry turned his head and winked, "They aren't fake today. I didn't have time."

Martin choked but followed him obediently through the school, balancing the coffees. When they got out into the parking lot, he was surprised to see the car and leaned over to ask Harry, "When did you get a car?"

"I didn't. It's Leah Clearwater's. She was gracious enough to offer me a ride and then show up on my doorstep exhausted, so I ended up driving _her."_

"Fun role reversal. Isn't Leah that bitchy girl at the coffee shop?"

He laughed, "She would be so psyched if you called her that in person," he tapped on the car, and then banged it with his fist when she didn't immediately awaken. She sleepily rolled down the window and accepted the steaming coffee.

"Oh, babe, thank you so much," she took a huge gulp and coughed to clear her throat as it scalded her. Already looking more lucid, she sat up straighter and asked, "Who is this asshole?"

Martin reached around Harry and offered his hand over the window. She took it and shook it with as much strength as him.

"Martin Strether, general science teacher."

"Cool. I'm Leah, barrister."

They stood awkwardly, and then he retracted his hand. Harry drank his coffee, ignoring the nervous energy in the air that always comes when you introduce friends who know you in completely different contexts. Straightening his skirt once he'd finished his coffee, which he gulped kamikaze style like Leah, he smiled at Leah.

"How are you feeling now? Think you can make it alone?"

"Yeah, I feel great. You were right about that coffee. I'd add 'horse shit' to the list of adjectives, though, if I were you."

"Will do. Be careful of the terrible after-taste."

"Right. Bye-bye, birdie," she leaned over and kissed Velma's cheek, "Pleasure to meet you Martin."

"Likewise."

She shimmied into the driver's seat from the inside and nodded one more time before driving off. They watched her go, Martin turning to watch Harry watch her. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"You like her."

Harry's voice broke the fog that'd fallen over his mind as easily as a hammer breaks spun sugar. Martin swallowed.

"Yes."

000

End chapter 17


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

His gun permit arrived in a week, and he went into the nearest hunting store and purchased what the shop keeper told him was a Browning Gold Shotgun. He also said that it was better for smaller people because of the semi-automatic feature, which he knew was a subtle jibe against him being a woman with a gun.

Filling out safety forms was a chore, but he made it through and carried his new deadly weapon home with pride. Looking at it gave him a ghost of the feeling he'd felt when he still had his wand. All that potential locked into one object that could be easily carried or concealed in his long skirts if he wore some extra layers underneath to add volume. He had no intention of carrying it around like that, but he would use it whenever he was in the woods from now on. The weight and dimensions of the weapon would make it difficult for him to sprint, but he wouldn't be doing any sprinting for a while anyway.

The leg had healed nicely, but he wasn't stupid. His leg would never be the same again, and the pain would come back when he was an older man on rainy nights and then all the time as he reached his sunset years. He was dreading old age, to tell the truth. The War hadn't exactly been a gentle affair, and he had enough ghost pain right now to last him several life-times. He wasn't looking forward to it intensifying.

Gun attended to, he went through his usual routine of bread-making, though he left most of the kneading to the fairies today. His shoulder wasn't ready for that kind of prolonged stress.

When Monday rolled around, signifying the second week since he was mauled passing, he was feeling up to walking to school on his own. He called Leah and told her to stay in bed. She protested, but he insisted and caught raindrops in his mouth as he walked. Despite the rain and the miserable mud and cold, he really enjoyed walking here. It was as though all the extra trees gave the world so much extra oxygen that you couldn't help but feel gloriously alive.

Other than his leg, nothing seriously had gone wrong since he first started teaching. It was kind of mind-blowing to have this kind of stability in his life now, though it could be bland at times. The thing that changed, and seemed to grow a little stronger every day, was Jacob Black. It seemed every time he looked to where he was sitting, the boy would be staring at him. He dearly hoped that he hadn't seen through his disguise.

Some of the students were looking rather tired these days, all of them the larger and more dangerous looking students. All of them were boys, so maybe they were in some kind of testosterone-charged teenage fantasy of fight club and spent their nights duking it out in the woods.

Stupider things have happened, he mused. What was upsetting about this phenomenon was that Jacob was one of the students. He wasn't sure why this bothered him, but it did. Something about Jacob said 'look at me', and it certainly didn't help that he was the only student Harry had had any real interaction with.

They hadn't had any conversations or strange driving incidents, but the tension was there all the same as though they were spending more time together than he knew.

He looked up from his study plan and caught Jacob's eyes again. He looked back down, and wondered if he was blushing. Why was he blushing? He would have to fire-call Hermione and ask her what he should do about this. She would know what to do. Issues or no issues, Hermione was still the smartest person he knew. He definitely couldn't say anything to Martin, who would probably tell him something ridiculous like that he should quit his job.

Martin was too busy being depressed about Leah anyway. He knew and Martin knew that Leah was a lesbian for unpleasant reasons, but you can't just stop something like attraction, be it to a lesbian or a student.

He froze. Did he really just think that? He risked a peek at Jacob, and Jacob swallowed hard, eyes still intensely fixed on him.

Well, fuck. This was going to cause some problems.

000

As soon as he got home, he went to the fireplace and called Hermione. She answered in a towel, suds dripping from the ends of her plentiful hair. Judging by the flushed, self-satisfied look on her face, she either hadn't bathed alone or as recovering from some quality bonding-time with Neville.

"Harry! Is everything okay?"

He snorted, eyeing a soap bubble that dropped from the end of a ringlet and made its way slowly down her shoulder, curving at her armpit and heading towards her damp cleavage.

"I'm absolutely lovely now that I've seen you in that towel."

She laughed, flushing a little more. She tried to tug her towel up, but that just caused it drag farther up her thighs. Sometimes there just isn't enough terrycloth to cover one's decency.

"S-shut up. Why did you call? If this is just for social reasons, go away and come back when I'm done washing."

"Is Neville washing as well?" he asked with deceptive innocence. She swished her hair at him, and some soap penetrated the fire system and beaned him in the eye.

"Oi, that is not nice!"

She shrugged, causing the towel to dip in the front, "You deserved it. I think that you've spent to much time sexually frustrated Harry. You should get out of your cottage and find some willing fool to fix your problem. I really can't have you coming onto me just because you can't get a date."

"Correction, I have had a date or two. They're just not with someone I can conceivably have sexual liaisons with."

She sat on her legs, making herself comfortable. In the background he saw Neville's bare legs cross the room. You could always recognize Neville's legs; they were thick and long and looked like the sort of legs you wanted to have should you ever need to scale the Swiss alps on a lark. If it weren't for his clumsiness, Neville would have made a formidable athlete.

"Why not?"

"She's a lesbian, and thinks I'm one two."

"Well, you would be if you were a woman. If the way you're looking at my breasts means anything, that is. Now Harry, get to the point. I can see Neville from here, so you'd better make this worth my attention or you will be left alone."

"I want…I have…a student is making me very uncomfortable."

An adorable frown appeared in her forehead. He wondered why he just thought it was adorable. Maybe he really _was _sexually frustrated and just applying his lust to any reasonably attractive person that presented themselves. Her voice drew him out of his contemplation.

"In what way?" her eyes widened, and he knew that she answered her own question, "Oh, shit…shit, Harry. How old is she?"

"He is seventeen, and could make any posh model jealous. He's beautiful, Hermione," and as he said it, he knew it was true. Jacob was more than beautiful. He was…well, Harry didn't know what he was, but he did know that something had to be done about his attraction to him before he did something illegal and potentially embarrassing. He was more worried about the embarrassment and reputation it would give Jacob than about his own criminal record, though. He was used to living on the wrong side of the law, but Jacob was a nice boy. Jacob didn't deserve to have a crush on someone like him.

Or maybe he was imagining it all, and Jacob was just staring at him because he had large tits. It was perfectly possible. The inanity teenage boys are capable of could power the universe if there was a way to harness it.

"You need to get laid."

"What? That is your brilliant advice? Hermione, I have to see this boy twice a week, and he stares at me the entire time with those gorgeous eyes of his. I don't think that getting laid will magically fix the problem," he protested, not knowing why he felt the need to do so. She was right, wasn't she? He was just thinking about how his sexual frustration was getting out of control (he was twenty years old. That's hardly a good age to become celibate) and that he ought to remedy it and then see what happened.

Or maybe he just didn't want to get it on with anybody other than Jacob.

"Harry," she rubbed her face, "You have been there for almost three months. You have not had sex for much longer than that. And don't you dare try to tell me otherwise. I'm not stupid. I know how hard you were working. You barely had time to sleep and eat, and definitely had no time to wash, so how could you have had any time to deal with your testosterone? No, Harry, you need to find someone with strong bones and good stamina, and get your issues sorted out. Now that I think about it, you should've done this before you went into hiding."

"Ugh, but where will I find this wonderful person, willing to play unwitting punching bag to my years of pent-up-"

"Wait. Years?"

That was stupid. He shouldn't have let her know that. Knowing her, she had some long lecture based on Freud's research about the effects of a bad childhood, hellish adolescence, and suppressed adulthood spent wearing ladies' clothing all prepared and waiting on the tip of her forked tongue for delivery.

"Hermione, do I look like the kind of guy who can just fuck anybody? It has to be personal!"

"Of course it does," she muttered, "Look, let's be honest. This is about Ginny."

"It is not!"

He hated it when she was right.

And that is why he was in a bar in La Push instead of walking the woods like he wanted to be doing. His shotgun was in his bedroom, waiting all polished and greasy-ready in its packaging for a nice long trek through the forest. But it would remain there until morning, untouched and untested. Why? Because he was too busy trying to size up someone that he could have sex with.

He moodily sucked on his beer, palming the cigarettes in his pocket. He would have to go outside to smoke them, but that would take away time that he could be spending trying to remember what you said to a half-drunk stranger whose pants you wanted to get into.

Not that there was anybody here he wanted to screw around with.

Half an hour went by without anybody even remotely interesting entering the bar, and he lost his battle against the cigarettes seductive pull. He left some money for his beer in case he decided that he didn't want to come back and stepped outside. There were a few other shadowy addicts standing in the half-light from the neon pulling smoke into their lungs, but he made no move to join them, taking up a post on the other side of the bar front.

He finished half the pack before his hands started to become too numb for him to use his lighter. The street traffic was scant now, but rowdy where it wandered through the streets back to wherever they came from. It was almost 3 in the morning, and he had to teach tomorrow, but he couldn't sleep. His whole body vibrated with slow pulsing energy, not enough to go on a crazy run but enough to keep him up.

He thought he was dreaming when he saw Jacob Black come walking down the empty street in nothing but a pair of denim cut-outs and a frown.

000

End chapter 18


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Harry almost had a heart attack, and his hands came up on instinct to adjust his falsies. He was confused when his hands met flat flesh, and looked down to see that he'd gone out in masculine clothing.

Oh. This meant that he was a stranger to Jacob, just someone who happened to be leaning against the side of a bar in downtown La Push. He took a drag of his cigarette and contemplated what this meant. For one thing, this meant that he needed to keep his head low in case he was recognized as highly similar to a certain fashion-lacking English teacher.

But it also meant that he could stare at Jacob without getting arrested.

It looked like Jacob was just going to storm right past the bar, but he stopped at the last minute and came roaring up the steps. He elbowed several drunks out of his way without looking at them, and headed inside. Harry raised his eyebrows and wondered if he could follow him inside without looking creepy or obvious about it.

He followed him in, and had to squint in the low light before he saw him over in one of the booths arguing with one of the people that came in later. He crept closer, and stood casually near enough to just barely make out what they were saying over the music.

"-can't expect us to do this forever! I might not be going to college, but my friends want to, and this is really hurting their grades! We can't look forever! It's been weeks, Sam."

"What do you want from me? The tribe needs to be protected. It's our job to look until we find it!"

"What if "it" doesn't exist?!" Jacob's voice sank into a lower pitch, so Harry had to lean closer to catch what he was saying, "-hopeless…could have been a fluke…no actual evidence…paranoid…"

Harry was just getting close enough to be seen if one of them happened to look over when the other man shouted, "I am _not _being paranoid! If you think you can do my job better, then why weren't _you _chosen to lead this pack!?"

"Fuck you, Sam! I came in here because I care about the pack just as much as you do!"

Jacob nearly knocked him over when he stormed back out. Harry made a bee-line for the bar and ordered another beer before following him back out. His bare back was disappearing down an alley, and he stopped, conflicted. On the one hand he couldn't walk around with an open alcoholic beverage in a city without drawing the wrong kind of attention from the cops, but on the other he really didn't want Jacob tearing up the town in the kind of mood he was in. Sometimes you really should lock yourself up when you're having a certain sort of bad day.

Decision made, he handed the bottle to the nearest person after taking a long swig and set off in the direction Jacob passed. The alley led to another back street, lined with the backsides of abandoned stores and the apartments above them. Beyond them were the woods, which pressed in on the city like a sentient being.

Jacob was gone.

As he walked home, he wondered what Jacob meant by 'pack'.

000

Two nights later he felt up to taking a stroll through the forest. He carried the shotgun in one hand and periodically checked that his flashlight was still working. He couldn't bring himself to have it on all the time, because it startled the night creatures and made them scamper away, which disturbed the swelling stillness of the forest.

His sexual frustration still throbbed through him like an angry virus, but he was going to let it alone. Maybe if he ignored it long enough, he would sink into some sort of monkish state and suddenly discover that celibacy is the key to spiritual enlightenment. And if there was one thing he needed, it was enlightenment.

The past few days were boring. He hated boring with all the passion of his soul, but didn't know what to do about it. Even Leah was behaving herself, and not in a way that would make him suspicious about her plotting something. She was actually thoughtful and quite sweet around him. Of course, she turned into her usual tigress self whenever Martin wandered past, which made him wonder if all of her bravado was just a mask that she used when she was feeling defensive. Or maybe it was the other way around, and the thoughtful sensitive girl he was getting to know was the mask.

He wanted a cigarette, but didn't bring his pack with him. He chewed the inside of his cheek until it felt like flocked wallpaper instead.

The Reservation wasn't as frigid to him now as it'd been before. They were used to him, or her, and the lady at the local grocery actually smiled at him yesterday when he bought some oranges. He almost felt guilty for stealing the bread and canned soup crammed inside his skirt, but didn't. The prices of Muggle food were astronomical on his salary. He shouldn't be expected to pay for stuff if he could steal it and get away with it.

Something was in the forest. If you'd asked him how he knew this, he wouldn't know what to tell you, but his instincts were never wrong.

He saw the hulking shadow of something huge move through the trees. He promptly climbed into the nearest one, out of reach in case it was a bear like last time.

It stopped and sniffed, and then moved on. He let out his breath slowly.

He stayed in the tree for an hour before climbing down. His legs were wobbly and sore all the way back home.

000

Jacob crossed his arms and boldly met Sam's eyes.

"Tonight just proves my point. The only thing in those woods other than the usual was one dude taking a walk. He had a gun and everything, so we know he's not the knife-bearing type."

Sam snorted, "A gun doesn't mean that he won't use a knife."

Jacob raised an eyebrow and sarcastically responded, "Oh, are you an expert? And besides, I was the one who smelled him, not you. He smelled harmless, like everyone else we've ever passed in the woods. I refuse to continue searching for something that doesn't exist. If you want to keep looking, you can look without me."

"I second that," Leah piped up, tearing off a huge bite of sandwich with her teeth, "I mean, we haven't found shit and it's been almost a month. There is nothing to look for."

Sam opened his mouth, probably to yell something, but the rest of the pack wouldn't look at him. Some of them were even leaning sub-consciously toward Leah and Jacob. He looked to Paul, but not even Paul was going to stand by him. They had successfully committed mutiny against his orders for the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.

That was the moment Sam's power structure first started to topple.

000

End chapter 19

Yes, it's a half-update. You should be glad I had time!


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: I just finished reading Fight Club. I recommend it to anyone out there who likes books about what happens when you mix suppressed testosterone and an existential crisis.

Chapter Twenty

The book was bleeding out into three packed legal pads now, and he worked on a fourth whenever he could. Martin wanted to read the project, but he didn't know if he felt comfortable about that yet. He hadn't left out anything yet, desperate to get the facts on paper. He could rearrange later, and figure out if he wanted to protect people's reputations or not. There were some things about Dumbledore that the world might not be ready to hear about. Namely, that he really was the great leader he was famous for, and that he never laid a finger on a child in an unacceptable way in his life.

He rubbed his forehead and glanced at the clock. It was too early for dinner, but his hands ached from writing. He'd come straight back from the coffee shop after chatting with Leah for a few minutes and started writing as soon as he sat down on the sofa.

Picking up the pen with his left hand instead of his right, he idly drew swirly circles in the margins of the paper. He always wished he was ambidextrous. That would be a handy skill to have.

He looked down and saw that he'd scribbled something without thinking in an upper corner, away from the main body of the work. It was a set of initials paired with another, like kids did in grade school when they had a crush and all they could think about was forever.

J.B & H.P. He looked at them for a little bit longer, pen poised to scratch them out. But he didn't. He left them alone, and got up to make himself some tea.

The fire roared while he was in the kitchen, startling him into dropping the kettle on his foot, heavy with water.

"Ow! _Fuck!"_

Something heavy hit the ground in the living room, and he hopped over to investigate, grabbing a kitchen knife just in case. There, crumpled on his floor next to her compact little travelling bag (it was so much easier to carry around than a trunk, lightening charm or no lightening charm), was Hermione. As he watched, wondering if he was hallucinating, she got onto her hands and knees and perked her head up to look around. She spotted him by the door and grinned.

"Harry! It's lovely to see you out of a dress!"

That snapped him out of it and he hobbled over to help her up. She dusted herself off and clucked when she saw that he was limping.

"Oh, you poor thing; you just can't help but injure yourself, can you?"

He sat her on the sofa and went back into the kitchen to finish boiling the water, this time without mishap. He returned while the kettle boiled and retorted, "I would have less of a chance of injuring myself if people gave me some damned notice when they were going to visit me."

"Don't be silly," Hermione patted her bag, "I'm long over-due for a little visit. Besides, I talked to Luna and she says that this place has got loads of room…in a tiny cottage-y way."

The kettle started hissing, so he excused himself to pour them tea. Returning, he carefully handed her the nicer mug and sat back down. He put his leg up and ran his hand over it, trying to ease the little shivers of pain racing through his nerves.

She slurped her tea and then opened her mouth to say something. He cut her off.

"'Mione, what's going on?"

She tried to deflect his stare with a bright smile, but it quickly faded. She ran her hands through her hair and looked out the window, "I don't really want to talk about it."

He took a wild guess, "Is this about Neville? I thought you guys were back together."

"We are, we are," she placated, stalling with a sip of tea, "I just needed some, you know, space."

He snorted, "Are you implying that _Neville Longbottom _wasn't giving you enough space? Babe, Neville is the very definition of the hands-off boyfriend!"

"No, not that kind of space; you're right, Neville does know how to be around but not around at the same time. I just…I needed to clear my head, and get out of that damned house. The Aurors are getting frantic, you know. They interrogated me again last week, about my _dry cleaning _bill!"

"Jesus, it's getting worse, then?"

"You can say that again," she huffed, "I mean, I'm not blaming you or anything, and it must be hard for you to imagine how much of a bother they can be when you're safely hidden away and all, but I really wish you weren't a Very Wanted Man sometimes."

"Trust me, no one wishes that more than me. Speaking of me being hidden, how are you here without drawing undue attention to me?" He tried to take a sip of tea but misjudged the space between his mouth and the mug and bashed his teeth. The liquid spilled onto his shirt, and she helped him dab at it with the sofa cushion.

After attending to him, she smirked and finished off half her tea in one great gulp before responding, "This is the brilliant part, dearest Harry. I made arrangements to visit my parents' old house, and then took the public floo after sabotaging mine so I'd have an excuse. Once there, I took the train to this tiny seedy bar and used theirs. I'm sure that the Aurors don't monitor it, since its mostly just old ladies out fetching cat food and drunks who use it. And then I made a switch-over in Nebraska to get here by an even more roundabout way."

"That was clever of you," was all he found he could say, "That's a lot of trouble to go through just to get some space. You could get some space with somebody who isn't a public enemy, you know."

She shrugged and nodded, "Yeah, I suppose so, but how many people are left who know me like you do? Besides, Luna wanted me to check on Deedee. It was a flimsy excuse, but it was all the push I needed."

As if on cue, Deedee flew straight into the window directly across from them, flattening against the glass. He almost dropped his tea, and Hermione shrieked. Deedee slid down the glass an inch before falling down into the bushes that ringed the cottage.

They dashed to their feet, leaving their mugs on the floor, and went outside onto the porch. Craning his neck, he saw Deedee crawling along the side of the house, obviously recovered from his accident.

"Is he okay? Oh my god, that was so scary!" Hermione gasped, hovering next to him. He held out his hand for Deedee to crawl onto. Predictably, his fingers were bitten and Deedee flew over to sit on Hermione's shoulder.

Harry wondered why he even bothered.

An hour later, after she was settled into the third bedroom with enough blankets to insulate against the damp cold of Washington, she asked what they were going to do for dinner.

"Well, what are you hungry for? I have supplies for…" he trailed off, seeing the look she was giving him, "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"How long can I stay here without you getting angry or bored of me?"

The question caught him off-guard. He was expecting her to tell him about some kind of faux pas he just made. He thought about it. Hermione could be over-bearing, meddlesome, and paranoid on a good day. She was also struggling with some kind of personal problem that she kept hedging around instead of telling him outright, which could only mean the worst. Also, he would have to pay to support another mouth to feed for as long as she stayed. But she was also _Hermione, _his beloved confidante and best friend, and she needed him right now.

"You can stay as long as you like, forever if you have to."

She sniffled, hesitated, and then rushed forward like she used to do when she was little and hugged him tightly, "Thank you so much!"

He just held her, resting his on top of her head. Her living with him complicated things a lot, especially if he had any intention of breaking the law and ravishing Jacob in his cottage, but he would find some way to deal with it. She was part of the very small world that was all he had left.

000

They went out to lunch when Saturday came rolling along to belatedly celebrate her temporary living situation. She mostly read and wandered the woods when he was at work, and when he peeked into her room he saw stacks and stacks of her research projects littering every available surface, so he knew she was staying out of trouble.

There was a nice Italian place in La Push, the same one he'd gone to with Leah, so they went there. She was paying, so they didn't have to do a runner and could come back again without getting their wrists slapped.

He went as Velma, and the waitress raised her eyebrows when she saw him with Hermione. He probably looked like some kind of lesbian player.

She adjusted her tweed suit before sitting down primly. She sipped her water as she looked over the menu, the very picture of a lady. He couldn't help but smile and prod her leg under the table. She prodded back without looking up, but a smile curved her lips.

Since it was a special occasion and they'd taken the bus, they ordered wine. And then more wine as they ate. He became dimly aware as they ate that they were getting steadily louder, because the dinner setting seemed to have opened the floodgates of conversation. They talked like they hadn't in years, all sorts of silly memories and secrets that they used to think were important when they were younger pouring out like the released tides of a Dutch dam.

Other patrons were starting to stare, but they stopped when Hermione gave them such a look of Boreal hauteur that they felt deeply ashamed of themselves.

It wasn't until they were on the bus heading home that he worked up the nerve to ask what he'd been wondering ever since she crash-landed in his living room.

"Hermione?"

"Mm?" she mumble-giggled against his shoulder, shuffling a little so that her face wasn't quite as buried into his side as before, "What?"

"What does Neville think you're doing here?"

"Plant research, which I am."

"Oh."

"Mm-hm."

Well. At least they weren't on hating terms.

000

"Guess who Cora saw at the Pasta House in La Push again?" Leah asked Jacob, barging into his room and sitting on his bed. He didn't look up from his homework. He was used to the pack members randomly stopping by his house, since he did the same to them. They pooled food and sleeping areas collectively between them, which drove their parents crazy but really couldn't be helped. Some communism was necessary for all the stomachs to be kept full, and sleep at odd hours acquired.

"Well, don't you want to know? Come on, big boy, pay attention to me!" she demanded, grabbing his science homework so he couldn't be distracted by it. He groaned and looked up.

"God, Leah, tell me already and give me back my damn stuff!"

She handed it back and smirked, "That's the spirit. Anyways, it's someone you and I and Seth all know…"

He frowned, "Who? It wasn't Sam, was it? Because if it was, I'm not covering for him; this will be the third time this week he's gone out without telling her where he's been, and she's getting really antsy."

"No, it's less juicy than that. Velma Hall and some hot British chick had dinner there, and according to my source they got very drunk indeed."

His chest seized up, and he didn't know why. It didn't help that there was something sour in Leah's tone, more than usual when she gossiped about people in town and where they'd spent their weekend.

"Oh? And why did you tell me this? Why should I give a shit?" Why did he care where Velma- _Miss Hall- _spent her weekend, and with who?

"I wasn't insinuating anything. I just remembered that you love hearing about your teacher's personal lives, so I thought I'd share. You know, being pack-mates and all," she punched his shoulder, and made herself comfortable on the floor, "Do you mind if I stay a while?"

He waved a hand, "Whatever. Just shut up."

He couldn't relax for the rest of the night, even after she left.

000

End chapter 20

A proper-length update! At last!


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

The Cullens were at a loss. This had never happened before, and now they didn't know what to do about the aftermath or their own helplessness. A vampire was slaughtered on enemy land, but not by an enemy that any of them recognized. Their family was scrupulously polite to all other vampires and weirdoes who knew about their kind in order to avoid sticky situations like the one they were embroiled in.

Carlisle looked away from Edgar, not wanting to see his inevitable culmination of grief. There was the almost wet sound of him opening his mouth to say something, but he shut it without speaking. Carlisle dared to glance at him, just in time to see his face collapse like a landslide. His whole body folded up like a deflated blow-up doll, and he slid from the couch onto the floor, where he was still.

It was quiet, and nobody moved. The only sound was the oscillating blades of a hand-held fan held in the fist of a tourist tramping through the forest half a mile away, and something wet in Edgar's throat.

A thin stream of black fluid came out of his mouth, and formed a pool around his head. Carlisle leapt into action, kneeling beside him and gently rolling him onto his back to see what was happening. Edgar's eyes were glassy and the pupils had disappeared, leaving only the whites. The black fluid was coming out of his nose now, and he could feel it dripping out of his ears onto his hand where he cradled his head.

"Shit…" Emmett murmured, looking as stunned as the rest of them. They weren't sure what was going on, but the curious jerking of Edgar's ankles and wrists wasn't a comforting sight. The jerking moved from his extremities all the way up his body, and soon he was thrashing.

Carlisle didn't know what to do. He'd never seen this happen before to anyone, vampire or human.

The liquid started bubbling out of his throat, and suddenly his neck snapped to the side and he vomited the fluid all over Carlisle and Esme, who was kneeling beside him on the floor. He recoiled on instinct, and Edgar curled into a little ball.

He was still, and they smelled something strange. The seat of his pants was dark with what looked like blood, as if he'd voided his bowels.

They looked at one another, not knowing what to do. Was he dead?

Alice moved around her husband and gently tapped Rosalie on the shoulder so she would make room for her. She bent and laid her hand on his chest, over his heart. She kept it there for a few minutes, and then removed it.

"He's not there anymore. Carlisle, I think he's dead for real."

000

There was a pep rally on Thursday, and then some kind of after-party held somewhere that the teachers pretended to have no interest in. All the students rushed off to the theater in La Push to celebrate by watching some new action flick that was out, leaving confetti and posters plastered up all over the school. The foam cups from the lemonade they'd served were still littering the school's tiny auditorium like lone snowflakes in the gloom of late-afternoon. With everybody gone to the movies or home to forget about their students, this left two goody-goody kids to clean up the huge mess and Velma in the entire school.

Harry was in his classroom, organizing the papers for a big surprise test he was going to fling at his students on Monday. Since the school didn't have security cameras and he'd heard the roar of the principal's car leaving the school half an hour ago, he reached into his bag and removed his first emergency stash of whisky. The whisky was very hard to shop-lift, but he managed it last weekend while Hermione was buying them a large bottle of gin and several smaller ones of tonic. She was ridiculously fond of gin and tonic, so he indulged her when she demanded that they get some for the house.

The first gulp burned, as always, but he felt better already. He knew that there were still a few students in the building somewhere, so he kept the bottle (it used to be a sampler mustard bottle, but he'd cleaned it out) on the floor under his desk for safety. He tried to pace himself, since he still had to walk home and finish work before then, but today was especially hard on him and he found that his self-control wasn't in top form. The pep rally made the students excitable and prone to inane chatter, whispered in class and roared in the hallways. His head was pounding, and he started twitching a little a few hours ago.

The bottle was empty before he knew what was happening, but he got an energy boost and started writing questions like mad. These kids had better have read 1984 _thoroughly _if they hoped to pass this tomorrow.

Elsewhere in the school, Jacob walked around with a garbage bag in one hand and grumpy look on his face. Technically their school had a janitor who was supposed to be cleaning the mess, but they gave the kids who got detention the lovely task of cleaning up the school. If nobody got detention, then the janitor cleaned. Today, Embry got detention for being late to three of his classes and was supposed to be here right now.

The thing was, just as he was getting his things out of his locker to go off to the film, Embry sidled over to him and complained about how his one chance to sit next to Karen (who he'd been obsessed with since the 8th grade) was now ruined. He was so pathetic, and Jacob was so sick of hearing him talk about Karen, that he gave in and offered to cover for him. this meant that Embry could go to the theater, and snag the seat next to her, and hopefully ingratiate himself somehow.

This also meant that Jacob was spending Friday night cleaning up crap at school.

He knew that there was a teacher around somewhere, but didn't know which one. If he did, he would've decided whether to slack off or not. If it was Ferguson, then he was screwed no matter what he did. Nigel Ferguson hated everyone in school, and everyone hated him. Hell, the whole Reservation hated him. His neighbors probably hated him too, at the shitty apartments he lived in.

Jacob chewed his lip and did one last survey of the auditorium. He couldn't see any cups that he'd missed, and all the confetti was gone now.

Job accomplished, he closed the top of his bag and headed down the hall to the back of the school, where the dumpsters were. That was where he walked in on Vince and the Klosterman slut from Forks two years ago, so he always made a lot of noise when he was opening the door to give anybody back there time to get their clothes back on. Contrary to the usual hormonal rules of high school, he had no desire to see the majority of his peers naked.

The dumpsters were abandoned, but he found a pair of briefs behind a shrub. He shrugged and went back inside, thinking about what he was going to make for dinner. His dad would be surprised to see him home, since he thought he was going with the other kids just for the sake of school solidarity, so he needed to think of an excuse. Maybe he could say that the movie looked stupid? If he spilled water down the front of his pants, maybe he could…no. That was too humiliating. Knowing his dad, he would tell all of his buddies.

He caught a familiar scent and his shoulders tensed. There, down the hall, a glimpse of long black skirt disappeared down the hall leading to the front doors. He stood still, undecided, for a full second before dashing off as quietly as he could behind her. She was walking to the front doors slowly, weaving.

He frowned. Was she okay? She limped now from some kind of leg injury, and he knew that she'd bruised her shoulders or back at some point because she sat really stiff sometimes. He hoped she hadn't fallen down and hit her head. If she had a concussion and went home and went to sleep and didn't wake up and died or went into a coma or…

His thoughts continued to race like this until they came to a skidding stop as she leaned against the wall and reached up her skirt. His blood thudded in his ears, and he held his breath. He couldn't think, and the thought that maybe he shouldn't be watching this didn't even register.

The hand reappeared clutching a bronze-colored flask. She took a deep swallow, emptying it. After a second when she just stood there with her forehead against the wall, she reached up her skirt again and replaced it. She giggled a little.

Air filled his lungs, and he sucked it in desperately. His body wasn't very happy about him not breathing.

She walked for a while more, and then went into the men's room.

Jake dithered before making up his mind. He stepped into the bathroom and saw her washing her hands and then using the damp on them to smooth back her fringe, which had sagged into her eyes. She took off her glasses.

He shifted his weight, and she turned quickly.

"What are you doing in the ladies room?" she asked in a husky, bewildered tone. He was unintentionally aroused and folded his hands in front of his crotch to disguise it. He coughed.

"Um, this isn't the ladies room," he helpfully indicated the urinals, and Miss Hall blinked.

"Oh…how embarrassing."

She made no move to say anything, so he offered to walk her to the parking lot. She weaved even worse as they went, and tripped over the steps when they descended them onto the concrete. He concluded that she was too drunk to make it home safely on her own.

She didn't even seem to notice the difference when he guided her to his car, and submissively let him strap her in. he rounded the car, and felt a strange sense of déjà vu as he put the car into gear and started heading to her house. While he drove, he glanced over at her, opening his mouth to check if she felt nauseous. He liked her, a lot, but he didn't want her vomiting in his car. She was dozing, her head tucked into her chest. He bit his lip, and tentatively reached over. His fingers grazed her cheek, and she mumbled sleepily.

When they arrived, he carried/supported her up the stairs. When they reached the top, she leaned on his chest, sighed, and then tore away without warning to unlock her door. Jacob desperately wanted to follow her inside, but knew that that would be stupid and a betrayal of her trust. It was unthinkable of him to impose himself upon her, especially now when she was vulnerable.

She stumbled against her couch and fell down, mumbling, "Ouch…"

He stepped inside, and shut the door behind him. Helping her onto the sofa, he walked to her kitchen and started looking in cupboards for a cup to put water in.

000

End chapter 21

Yes, it is shorter than I want it to be, but shit happened! Sorry I haven't been updating regularly, but I am sick and my motivation to even get out of bed and brush my teeth is tremendously low.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: I am actually going to be non-nasty to Edward for a little while!

Chapter Twenty-Two

They buried Edgar in the woods, as close to the border as they dared. If it weren't for the border, they would've buried him where Victoria died, so his spirit could be beside hers.

None of them said anything, but simply stood amidst the supernaturally alive trees and watched the rain fall onto the muddy soil of his grave. Though none of them spoke, they were all thinking the same thing. What did this mean for their people?

Edward wondered about Bella, and how his feelings for her could affect him now that their theory was that it was Edgar's love for Victoria that killed him. Would he die when she died? He had no intention of turning her, no matter how often she asked. She didn't understand what it meant to be a vampire, and he hoped that she never really understood what monsters they were. And if his love for her did kill him, would he see her again in the afterlife Carlisle believed so strongly in? He would have to talk to her about this. He had to explain what was going on anyway. All she knew was that Victoria was dead, and her only reaction was a relieved smile when he told her. He knew how terrified she was of Victoria, and was happy that the vampiress was dead now. Despite Edgar's love for her, and before him James, he couldn't see anything to love. She was self-centered, childish, and little more than a beast when it came to feeding, accepting nourishment from any source that presented itself.

Alice looked at him, and he could feel the gentle flow of her thoughts stretching out towards him for his inspection. He declined to read them, sending the impression that he wanted solitude in his mind right now. She twitched one corner of her lips and returned her eyes to the grave.

It was kind of funny, actually. Despite everything they were glorified and feared for in pulp fiction, they could still be reduced to this. Death was a human condition to the typical vampire, but they weren't so sure about their immortality anymore.

Edward was the first to leave. Bella was expecting him in an hour, and she always looked pleased when he showed up early.

She was in her room, as usual, when he arrived. She glanced up from her homework and smiled when he climbed in her window.

"Hey, you. You're early."

He shrugged, "I know, but I figured I could help you make dinner. And this gives me more time to explain things to you."

She nodded, "Okay. Can it wait, though? I just got into the swing of WWI and don't want to stop now."

"Yeah, no problem," he lay on her rug because her papers were spread out all over the bed, and folded his hands on his chest. There was a cobweb in the corner of her ceiling, and he watched a tiny daddy-long-legs navigate the slippery threads while he waited. He could hear the thrum of blood in her veins, the thick beating of her heart, and the wet sound of her breathing. She had a cold, so her breathing was heavier than usual and almost sticky.

He smiled. He wouldn't mind dying if she wasn't here anymore. There was a reason he waited so long before he dated anyone seriously. He had very specific standards, and was just beginning to reconcile himself to the life of a monk when he met her. She was everything he was waiting for and more, and she loved him. It was the love of a young heart, so it was fragile and fickle, but he was praying that it would deepen into something longer-lasting when she got older.

He peeked at her, and watched as she sneezed twice.

"Bless you."

She glanced up and winked but went back to her studies without acknowledging him any further. He continued to lie on the floor, watching the spider and listening to her being alive. He couldn't bear it if she died, even if she lived on as a vampire. He was attached to the way she inhaled almost silently, and then exhaled in a little sigh before repeating the process. Scientists say that the beats we hear in music are enjoyable because they remind us of the way we could hear our mother's heart beats when we were carried in the womb. He closed his eyes and just listened to her heart beating. The scientists were right. The sound of a beating heart was the most wonderful sound ever created.

"Edward?"

"Hm?" he murmured without opening his eyes. The bedspread, the same one she used as a little girl, rustled as she slid off of it. She knelt on the ground beside him and laid her hand on his forehead. It was clammy and smelled like rubber from her eraser.

"Are you feeling okay? You've been acting weird lately. I worry about you these days, you know."

"I'm fine now," he opened his eyes and looked up at her, noticing the dark circles and limpness in her hair. Was she losing sleep over him? "I'm sorry you worried. It's just…well, Victoria was murdered."

"I know," she smirked, "I figured it had to be something like that, all things considered. Is this why you've been too busy to come over in the afternoons lately?"

"Yeah, but not anymore; we were looking for her killer because her boyfriend asked us to, and Carlisle didn't want to leave what might be a threat to us and Forks unexplored. We didn't find anything, though. It's kind of freakish, but your dad probably told you how much time evidence can linger here in this weather."

She chewed on a strand of hair, and then shifted so that she could lay her head against his stomach with her feet curled around his head. She smelled good despite her weary appearance. She closed her eyes, and he knew that she was dozing so he kept quiet and watched the dust float through the yellow light of her lamp.

"Edward?" She spoke with her eyes closed. He didn't bother to look away from the dust when he answered.

"Yeah?"

"My mom is stopping by this weekend. I just found out a few hours ago, and I want to have a dinner party to welcome her here. Would you be willing to come and meet her? You don't have to if you don't want to. I know it can be scary meeting the parents..." she trailed off, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his stomach through his shirt. He thought about it seriously, knowing that she wasn't asking him lightly.

Was he ready to meet her mother? He'd heard a lot about her. He heard that she was flighty and nervous, that she could get lost in her own driveway, and that she had a heart as big as the moon. He heard that she fell in and out of love easily. He hoped that Bella didn't have any of that aspect of her.

"I'll come. I want to meet the other half of your family."

He could feel her smiling, and grasped her hand, rolling her fingers through his.

"I'm inviting Jacob and his dad."

His grip tightened, but he relaxed soon after, "Why?"

"Because they're friends of the family, and I can't have two separate dinner parties because my boyfriend doesn't get along with them. My mom knew Mrs. Black really well before she died and she still lights a candle every year on the anniversary of her death and prays for her soul. It's cheesy, but that's my mom for you."

He shook his head, "No, that's not cheesy at all. Your mother sounds like a very sensitive person."

Her toes curled against the back of his head, "She is. I think Alice will really like her."

He hummed, and tried not to think about spending his weekend with the stench of dog in his nose and clogging his brain. There was something overwhelmingly animal about the Quileute scent. It was heavy and intense, like fog on the lakes or incense in a tiny Catholic church. He would bear it, though. Bella deserved to have him by her side when she saw her mother again.

000

Jacob supported the back of Velma's head as he fed her the second glass of water. She was looking better already, though she still giggled. She hadn't said much, or even looked at him more than once. Her eyelids kept drooping, and her lips were slackening. He wondered if she was getting enough sleep at night, or if it was the alcohol that was making her so sleepy. When the glass was empty, he got up and replaced it in the kitchen.

She collapsed onto her side when he turned around, and he laughed despite himself. She was a funny drunk. There was something laughable in the way she moved, like Charlie Chaplin as the tramp. He pulled her feet up and put them on the couch. He thought about it, and then knelt on the carpet and began to unlace her boots. They couldn't be comfortable sleep ware.

"Pervert," she mumbled when he pulled off the first boot with a soft sliding sound. He was so startled that he dropped the boot, which landed with a loud thunk onto the low table in front of the fire place. She snorted at his face, peeking at him with one eye, and then put her foot against his face.

He choked, laughed, and tried to push the persistent foot away, "Hey! Behave yourself."

"No…" she smirked now, and playfully kicked him in the chest. He grabbed her foot and tickled it, noticing that it was longer and wider than most women's feet he'd seen before. But then he factored in her height and sharp bone structure, and decided that it would look weird if she had soft little rounded feet. Besides, there was nothing wrong with having masculine feet. Paris Hilton had man feet, so Velma could too.

"I still have a boot on," she pointed out, waving the foot, "are you going to remove it or shall I?"

"Here, let me," he gently removed her other shoe, his fingers lingering on her strong calves against his better judgment. She definitely could handle a little exercise. With legs like hers, someone could win a marathon. Feeling a little awkward when he realized that he'd started to massage her leg, he removed his hand and casually asked, "So, uh, are you expecting anyone? I can leave now if you want."

"Nobody is coming over," she slurred, rolling over onto her back. Her ample chest and hips curved like beautiful rolling hills, and he stared for a little while longer than could be excused in polite company, "You can stay as long as you like. I'll just lay here and have a nap, if you don't mind."

"It's cool. I mean, it's your house."

She suddenly sat up partially and looked at him with a puzzled frown. He wondered what she was thinking about.

"Won't your parents expect you home?"

"Oh! Uh, no, actually. My dad thinks I'm going to the movies with the other kids, but I stayed behind to clean the school instead, so I don't have to be home until curfew, which is 10 on school nights," he regretted mentioning school nights as soon as he said it. He didn't want to refer to himself in childish terms around her. He wanted her to see him as an adult, someone she could talk to. Whether or not it was wise to have a friendship with someone he was achingly attracted to is another story.

She smiled at him, "Well, there's food in the cupboards if you want a snack. You can have dinner with me if you don't get too bored. Please, make yourself at home."

"Okay," his bladder protested, so he asked her where the bathroom was. She directed him, and he went to find it. When he came out, she was asleep. Left with nothing to occupy himself with, he looked around the kitchen and then poured himself a glass of water. There was a stack of yellow legal pads on one of the kitchen counters, and he raised his eyebrows. They were covered with chicken-scratch handwriting, written in cramped paragraphs. He craned his head to read without touching, catching only a few sentences that he could read in the mess of loops and dashes.

_Lily Potter…Auror training was difficult but rewarding…record-breaking Charms student and later researcher…_

_Green light and screaming…only 21 when she was murdered…orphan…Surrey…_

He scratched his chin and gave up. It was like trying to solve a riddle that was not only in a different language but upside-down and backwards too. Carrying his glass with him, he cautiously started to explore the first floor. Beyond the bathroom was the bedroom, one of Velma's other dresses laid out on the bed, possibly for tomorrow.

He returned to the living room, and perused the books until he spied steps leading up. He took them slowly, wincing every time they creaked. He didn't want her to wake up and be angry with him for snooping. She told him to make himself at home, but almost nobody actually meant that anymore.

There were two doors on the landing, and he opened one and found a room with a large unmade bed. He frowned. Miss Hall's things were downstairs…did she have a room mate?

He was just going to leave when he saw a pair of men's jeans and a muddy t-shirt lying on the floor in a crumpled heap. His eyebrows shot up, and he growled a little. Call him old-fashioned, but he was _not okay _with some guy living with her. This had nothing to do with possessiveness. He wasn't a possessive person, and he tried not to get jealous if he could help it. It was just that he preferred it if he knew as much about his competition as possible.

He left reluctantly, knowing that standing there glaring at a pair of men's jeans would make him a bit crazy. The second door offered some resistance, like there was something on the floor on the other side of it. He pushed harder, and the door opened about a foot. Looking down, he saw stacks of books covering more than half the floor. The window was open, letting in the grayish gloom of the evening and a cold breeze. Two floor lamps and one desk one illuminated the strangest sight he'd ever seen. There was a table absolutely buried in charts and papers of every kind known to man, and some he'd never seen before. Bottles containing moss or ferns indigenous to the forest caught his eye, and he saw packing supplies in the corner. Was Miss Hall doing some kind of research project?

And then he saw her. She was asleep at the desk, her face pillowed in her arms. The lamp fell over her messy hair. There was a lot of it, and it curled up every which way. There seemed to be several million pins and then a thick scarf holding it back from her face. From what he could see, she was rather pretty.

She sighed in her sleep, and he quietly backed out of her room.

He was half-way down the stairs when he remembered what Leah told him about Miss Hall going on a date in La Push with a pretty lady with-

Damn it! Why did he have to have a crush on a lesbian? It just wasn't fair.

000

End chapter 22

HAHAHA! Yes, I enjoyed this a lot. Maybe too much.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: THIS HAS OVER 500 REVIEWS! Thank you so much!

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jacob read the book they were assigned for English class while he waited for Velma to wake up. His stomach growled regularly, but he was determined to ignore it for as long as possible. He needed to work up his tolerance against his physical demands anyway. It was part of the new training he'd dreamed up. Ever since they'd usurped Sam, they pretty much did whatever most of the Pack wanted to do. They changed their patrol patterns into ones that actually _cooperated _with their individual schedules instead of having their plans randomly invaded by patrol duty because Sam said so (it didn't help that he made some of these decisions drunk).

Leah was his main supporter and cohort in as far as leading the group went. They guided more than led, being the main suppliers of new ideas for their pack to collaborate with. They'd even started organizing plans to have a bi-monthly celebration on the beach for Pack unity. This way they could have fun together as a group and not just do boring things like check for invaders and avoid bears.

It was kind of funny, how the Pack was starting to treat Leah differently now. Her hatred for Sam was taking a back seat these days, which made her a lot more pleasant to be around in wolf form, and they were finally starting to understand that she was just messing with around when she insulted them. He smirked, remembering a particularly acerbic remark she once made about Embry's knees. It was something about squash.

Miss Hall sighed and stirred. She flicked her eyelids open, and then shut again. She subsided back into sleep, only to repeat the process several minutes later. The eyes flicked over to him the third time, and he was relieved when she showed no sign of surprise at finding him there.

"What time is it?"

He looked at the clock behind them, "It's almost half-past seven."

"Damn it…" she glared at the ceiling, and then muttered, "I wonder if 'Mione is back yet?"

Jacob bit the inside of his cheek, but in vain because the question slipped out anyway, "Who is 'Mione'?"

She started, and then looked back at him, "Sorry, I forgot you were there for a second. Hermione is a friend of mine from back home who's staying with me for a little while. She's doing some research in the woods here for a Botanist we both grew up with. He couldn't come himself, and she needed a vacation."

"Oh," now he was going to wonder if the sleeping woman above them was Hermione or not. The plant samples made sense, but what if he was just connecting dots that weren't connected just to comfort himself?

"Are you hungry? If you help me up, you can help me make dinner."

He nodded and put away his book. She held up her hands, so he gripped her elbows and used them to lever her up. She smiled and patted the center of his chest when she was on her feet, and when he looked down he saw her wiggling her toes into the rug. It was endearing.

They made pasta, because it was quick and required little real effort, and Velma produced a loaf of bread seemingly from thin air. She didn't talk much as they cooked, but he sensed that she was in a good mood and that the quietness was just how she was when she was drunk and tired.

He was just straining the pasta when the stairs creaked. He immediately swiveled his head like an owl and saw the sleeping lady from before standing at the base of the stairs, wearing a man's pajama set with the cuffs rolled up and rubbing sleep out of her eyes. She smiled sleepily at Velma and then her eyes landed on Jacob.

She jumped, and crossed her arms over her chest. He realized that that wasn't a white stripe down the center of the shirt. It was her skin, because she somehow didn't realize she hadn't buttoned it.

His eyes narrowed. That or she was intending to seduce Velma but wasn't expecting her plans to be foiled by his presence. Pride coursed through him, and he had to finish the pasta so they wouldn't see the smug look on his face. He could hear the soft sounds of her pushing through the loops of her shirt, and felt satisfied. Velma was safe from this woman for a few more hours, at least until he went home.

"Hey guys. H-Velma, are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Her voice was more authoritative than he was expecting, and it had a strong sarcastic tone. He really shouldn't have been so surprised, though. Leah could bark orders better than any drill sergeant, and Miss Hall was terrifying when she was lecturing and stumbled on a topic that she was passionate about. Watching her get hot about something was both revolting and arousing at the same time. Sometimes his stomach squirmed for the rest of the day after listening to her, unsure of what it was supposed to be feeling.

"Sorry Hermione, but I wasn't expecting to bring anybody home. Jacob here did me a tremendous favor and drove me home. I was the rude one who fell asleep after inviting him to stay for dinner," she waved one hand half-heartedly between them, "Anyway, jacob, this is Hermione. Hermione, Jacob is one of my better students."

"Wow, you must have low standards," Hermione teased, picking up the bread and tearing off a piece. She popped it into her mouth and then started digging through the lower cupboards until she removed a dusty bottle of wine, "Ha-Velma, where is the corkscrew? You had it last, and I couldn't find it earlier today when I came back for lunch."

Jacob frowned. Why did she keep adding an 'H' to the beginning of Velma's name?

"It's in my room, next to last night's empties."

She nodded and left, presumably to retrieve the desired tool. Jacob watched Velma stir the sauce thoughtfully. Why did it feel like there was something just on the outskirts of his attention, just waiting to be noticed? There was something about Velma that he just couldn't figure out, but he didn't know what it was. The steam rising off of the sauce made her skin glow greasily, but he didn't care what she looked like right now. He liked her, some part of her drawing him in, and that was that.

Would she ever like him back? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe he was just being stupid, and he would wake up two weeks later with a crush on somebody else. Somehow he doubted it. She had something that nobody else he'd ever met had. He chewed on his knuckle, and then looked out the window at the dark backyard.

He just wished he knew what it was, if it even had a name.

000

When he got home that night, his dad was dozing on the couch and only acknowledged him with a sleepy salute via beer bottle. He nodded back and stepped around him to get to his room. Once inside, he didn't bother to turn on the lights, stripping out of his clothes in the dark. He groped in his nightstand for his sleeping pills and then went into the bathroom.

He turned on the light and found a bright orange sticky note pasted to the mirror. On it were the words,

_Bella called. Her mom is coming into town and she wants us to come to a welcoming party for her this Saturday. You are bringing a date. Don't question me on this. It's for your own good._

_-Dad_

He groaned. He hadn't even spoken to any girls lately, Leah and the two British ladies excepted. And he knew that Leah was busy this weekend, so that made her unavailable. How was he supposed to find someone to go with him on such short notice that wasn't a total embarrassment?

And then it occurred to him. He could ask Velma. She could always say no, but there was a chance that she would say yes. She obviously thought he was alright if she invited him into her house and introduced him to her 'special friend', so she might be willing to do this for him as a favor.

Would it be appropriate, though? She was his teacher, and not exactly a normal kind of woman. He smiled, putting toothpaste on his toothbrush. He was glad she wasn't a normal girl. He was sick of normal girls.

He would ask her tomorrow, after school. Maybe he could drive her again, and use that to soften her up. Yes. This was going to work, he just knew it. And then he could freak Bella out, which would be awesome. He was still kind of mad at her for being such a fucking idiot.

Oh, damn it. He spat his toothpaste with more force than necessary. If Bella was having a party… that meant stupid Edward was going to be there. He was going to have to put up with his stench and his stupid childish shit the whole fucking time.

He popped an extra sleeping pill to suppress any angry dreams he might have had and switched off the bathroom light. This weekend was going to be heaven and hell at the same time.

000

End chapter 23

Sorry it is short, but I had a busy day!


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: I am going to see the Wolfman tonight, and I am so fucking excited! Who knows, maybe I'll get some new material for Jacob?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Harry woke up with barely enough time to bathe and dress. He felt like he'd been clubbed in the head with a ball peen hammer repeatedly by an enraged dwarf. Last night, after Jacob went home to make his curfew, they broke out three more bottles of wine and sat outside consuming them long into the morning hours. As the night wore on, Hermione revealed some exploits she'd had with Viktor Krum in the library that made him see some aspects of their youth together in an entirely different light.

And then he revealed that he wanted to do very illegal, very physical things to Jacob. She hadn't reacted much, merely pointing out that she already knew. Apparently he was the most obvious person on the face of the planet.

He rubbed soap along his calves, and recalled the phantom touches Jacob laid there yesterday. He wasn't nearly as drunk that afternoon as he pretended to be, a flask not enough to inebriate him to the extent that he feigned. Sure, it was inappropriate to trick one's students into driving you home, but he wanted to spend some time with Jacob and he'd already been caught in the men's room. After getting caught in the wrong bathroom, you tend to form a bond with the person who caught you.

He reached down and pulled the plug on the water, massaging his fingers through his hair to get rid of the remaining soap suds. Manipulating a student into having dinner with him was unethical, but he got the information he was looking for. The attraction was mutual. He was sure as soon as he 'accidentally' rested his calf against Jacob's and Jacob made no move to pull away. A slow flush suffused his cheeks, actually, which was very attractive and almost irresistible to his wine-addled self last night. He held back from feeling up Jacob's tempting arms, which he had an especial liking for, but only just barely.

Hermione laughed at him when he told her later while they were lying on the soaked grass of his backyard getting fed chocolate by faeries in between gulps of wine. She confessed having a massive crush on three of their teachers, and named two of them as Gilderoy Lockhart and Remus. When he asked who the third was, she held out for over an hour before sheepishly admitting that it was Severus Snape.

He still wasn't sure how he felt about that.

The walk to school was half-way over and he was working on his third cigarette when one of the passing vehicles slowed to a crawl beside him. He looked over, and grinned when he saw Jacob. He didn't bother to suppress his smiles anymore, even though they drew a lot of attention to his masculine bone structure.

"Hey Jacob! How are you?"

"I'm good," Jacob snickered, "You look like somebody beat the shit out of you. How much did you drink last night?"

"More than I should have," he adjusted his bag and tucked away his cigarettes, "Are you going to give me a ride or just stalk me the whole way like a creeper?"

Jacob snorted and jerked his head, "Come on around. I don't think a hung-over person of any age or gender should be trusted to walk to work unsupervised."

He climbed inside and asked, with more flirtatiousness than he intended, "Are you treating me like a child?"

Jacob rolled up his window and then smirked at him, "Yes, I am. But, uh, to be perfectly honest with you, there's a reason for my sudden burst of generosity. I need you to do me a favor, a big one."

Harry raised his eyebrows, libido already broadcasting its interest through his neurological channels, "Oh really? What kind of favor?"

"I need you to go with me tomorrow to a dinner party."

He opened his mouth and then paused. He thought about how much he despised dinner parties. He loved eating, especially eating dinner at high-end restaurants that did exotic things to a piece of steak, and wouldn't turn down a free dinner. But this offer came linked hand-in-hand with something he absolutely despised: required socialization.

But he'd be with Jacob. But he'd also be with strangers and assholes. But he'd be with Jacob…

He looked over and met Jacob's eyes. They were wide and anxious for his answer, and even his shoulders were hiked up almost to his neck. There was just no way he could say no to that face, to those nervous teenaged eyes.

"Yeah, okay. What time will you pick me up tomorrow?"

"Really?" he sounded so relieved he was out of breath, "Thank you _so, so, so much! _Um, is 4 okay? It's kind of going to be a long day, actually. We might not get out of there until 10 at the earliest."

"Oh wow…" Harry was just going to think of a way to gracefully back out, but then he remembered that Hermione said she was going to be busy tonight making a deadline and that Leah was out of town doing something stupid with some friends of hers. This meant that, should he back out, his only option of entertainment was to get shit-faced and then wander the woods until something attacked him again.

Like it or not, he was going to have to suck it up and be a man (or woman) and be a good date for Jacob. Maybe he could still get drunk, but within reason. He still had to keep his hands to himself after all, playing a 23-year-old school teacher.

He tried not to think about the party so he didn't get nervous, but he was tense all day despite himself. He went home, nodding to Jacob, and made dinner with Hermione. She ate in her room, surrounded by her project, so he sat cross-legged on her bed and watched. There was something absolutely absorbed about Hermione whenever she worked on a project. A crease formed between her eyes whenever she was figuring something out, and her pen danced across the paper without her even paying attention to it, as though her arm was disconnected from her mind's will and functioned on its own.

He took her dishes when she was finished and came back with two mugs of tea and the reports he was supposed to be grading. They worked together in silence, and he assumed that she was nearly oblivious to his presence. He was proved wrong when he happened to glance up and saw her smiling at him. She stretched out her hand, fingers waggling, and he reached as well until the tips of their fingers touched.

They retracted their hands and went back to work as though nothing happened, but he felt warm inside.

000

Jacob was punctual, and he pressed the bell rang exactly at four.

Hermione opened the door, eating an apple and wearing a man's sweatshirt. He wondered what was up with her and the men's wear but decided it would be rude of him to ask. She gestured him to come inside, and Velma came out of the bathroom a moment later. She was wearing a plainer dress than usual that he wasn't expecting, but her boots remained the same. Her new dress set off her strange charms to a better advantage by understating itself, as though she was dressed in a shadow.

She smiled at him, and then lightly grasped Hermione's upper arm, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"While the cat's away, the mice will play," she purred, winking at both of them before going into the kitchen. Velma rolled her eyes and signaled to Jacob that she was ready to leave.

"Come on, I don't want to make you late. Are we picking up your dad?"

"No, Charlie came and got him this morning. They spent the day together watching the game and making sure that Bella doesn't lose her cool, or so my dad told me," he opened the car door for her, and tried not to stare at her ass.

"Who is Charlie, and who is Bella?"

Jacob blinked, and then realization stole across his face, "Oh! Oh, sorry, I guess I forgot that you don't know them. Charlie Swan is the Chief of police in Forks, and Bella is his daughter. We've been friends with the Swans for as long as I can remember, and that's why we're invited to their dinner party today. Charlie's ex-wife is here visiting Bella, and we're welcoming her to the area."

"I see," Harry looked out the window, watching the gray and green blobs race by. They left the Reservation and drove on a normal road for a little way until they entered a town. The sign, painted in what should have been cheerful yellow and blue, proclaimed that the town was named 'Forks'. He smiled, reminded of what his reaction had been when he found out that the school he was going to attend was named 'Hogwarts'.

They drove down a few streets and then into a housing area. There was a blue house towards the end of the street, with cars tightly packed into its driveway and lining the street. They weren't the only ones going to this party, it would seem. He spotted a large red truck and a Volvo parked side-by-side and knew somehow that that was significant, though he couldn't tell you why if you asked.

Jacob turned off the car and swallowed. Harry knew he had to be nervous as hell to be bringing his teacher as a date, so he reached over and lightly laid his hand on Jacob's forearm, thinly covered by a well-worn button down shirt that might once have been green but was a strange foggy gray now.

"Hey, don't be so nervous. You said yourself that you've known these people for years. There's nothing to be afraid of. And, if you want, I can pretend to be ridiculously admiring of you to boost your reputation."

He quirked up his lips thoughtfully, considering what she'd said to him, "Did you ever consider being a psychic? I think you'd be really good at it."

The doors unlocked and Harry climbed out. When they were both outside and started walking up the drive to the house, he asked, "No, not really. I never really bought into all of that new Age shit. Why?"

"It just feels like you can read my mind sometimes, and then you say exactly what I want or need to hear," he reached out and rang the doorbell, stepping back to stand beside Velma while they waited for someone to answer.

Harry frowned a little, thinking it over. He wasn't aware of even trying to peek, Snape-style, into Jacob's head. He'd never been very good at Divination either. Ron was the one who had talent in that area, not that he would have ever admitted his talent or the fact that he enjoyed it out loud. Maybe he was just good at understanding people sometimes? It probably had something to do with how many times he'd hit rock bottom in every possible way.

A thought popped up, and he froze as the door was opened. Didn't Jacob say that Mr. Swan was the Chief of Police? This meant that he'd been studying Ludwig Brink's face and the few details they knew about his alter ego as well as keeping a sharp look-out for him. Because of the high-alert, even rural police were keeping watch for him. If he was recognized, he was going to be publicly dragged off to the nearest holding cell in deep shame. What would Jacob think of him? What about Leah? And then they would trace his last known residence, and find Hermione. She would freak out and attack them, and then she would get arrested too. The news coverage would alert the Aurors, and then they would find him at whatever prison he was being kept at and relocate him to Azkaban where Dementors would feast on his misery. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…

The man standing on the other side of the doorway was just tall enough to be authoritative-looking, and he had a very nicely groomed mustache. He had a beer in one hand, and a plate with nibbles on it in the other.

He lit up when he saw Jacob.

"Hey you!" his eyes shifted to the side, and he raised his eyebrows when he spotted Velma, and in particular her peculiar clothing, "Uh, is this a friend of yours?" he shifted his plate of nibbles into the hand holding the beer in preparation to shake her hand.

"Uh, yeah. This is-"

"Velma Hall, Jacob's English teacher," he shook Chief Swan's hand with his 'honest' handshake. He'd studied body language to find the sort of handshake that would automatically make the person he was meeting look at him as a trustworthy person. It could save him a trip to prison if he pulled it off right, "Jacob's father insisted that he bring a female date, but because of the short notice I was the only one who didn't have plans."

Harry smiled self-deprecatingly, just to add to the overall impression. Chief Swan nodded, and Harry could tell that the handshake worked because the suspicion that was filtering insidiously into his eyes vanished.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hall. Why don't you guys come inside, before the rain floods the entryway?"

The followed him in, and a wave of sound hit them. There were people everywhere! A quick glance at Jacob proved that his student was just as surprised as he was. They'd both thought that this was going to be a more private affair, but there was a mix of teenagers from the local high school and grown-ups who probably knew the ex-Mrs. Swan.

Harry spotted a cooler of beer against the wall and made a beeline for it. Jacob jumped out of his reverie and followed. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Velma select a dark beer and open it not with the opener but by tucking it into her elbow and twisting her arm. The cap popped off, and she left it on the floor while downing half of the beer in one gulp. She nodded to Jacob when she finished swallowing, "Sorry, but I don't think I'm going to handle this if I don't have at least six of these."

"Aren't you still recovering from the night before last?" he teased, dodging her swat, "Ha, you missed! Come on let's go say hi to Renee."

Velma shrugged, "Okay, and then what do you want to do? Don't lie to me; I can tell you really don't like most of these people."

Jacob blushed, "God, how do you do that?"

"No idea."

Renee was standing in the kitchen in a circle of housewives, all of whom were excitedly chattering about what their children had been up to while she was gone. She seemed genuinely interested, and fired off questions almost as quickly as they explained and described things.

She spotted Jacob standing by the door, shadowed with a funny-looking lady. She waved him over, smiling wide. If Billy hadn't showed her a wallet photo of what little Jakey looked like now, she never would've recognized him. Who knew that muddy little sweetie could turn into such a hunk? She craned her head to maintain eye contact, and he hugged her with a smile.

"Hey! It's so good to see you again!"

"Absolutely! I can't get over how big you are now!" she exclaimed, waving her hand at his general massiveness. He turned a little red but smiled anyway. She could tell he was shy about his new height, but flattered that she noticed, "How are things at school? Are you thinking about colleges yet?"

"Actually, I won't be going to college. I don't see the point. I already know that I'm going to work in the shop until people don't need cars anymore, so a degree would just be a waste of time and money. Besides, this way I can stay with dad and make sure that he has everything he needs."

She nodded, "I understand. But you never know what the future holds. You might decide that you don't want to work on cars forever, and then it will be a lot harder for you to learn something new."

"I'll think about that, but I still don't think it's likely. I love that shop."

Their conversation ended there, because a wispy teenager came over and greeted Jacob.

"Hey, Bella," he replied, not quite making eye contact but still looking in her general direction. Harry noted this with interest and filed it away fro later consideration. This must be Renee and Charlie's daughter. She was pretty in an uninteresting way, with regularly spaced features and a decent figure. The result was that she was attractive but not eye-catching, or worth one look but not two.

He finished his beer and tapped Jacob's arm to let him know he was getting another one.

Jacob joined him in standing against the wall a few minutes later, sipping a soda. He looked enviously at Velma's beer. He hadn't seen Bella in forever, and he could smell the Vampire on her everywhere, even her breath. It was one of the more upsetting things he'd experienced in a while. Thankfully, the Vampires weren't here yet so he could enjoy a few more minutes without their direct stench clogging his nose and reddening his vision-

The doorbell rang, and someone opened the door. A whoosh of disgustingly sweet Vampire stench came through the door, and he knew who was there. He groaned quietly, and sidled infinitesimally closer to Velma. The folds of her skirt concealed it from the surrounding people, but she took and squeezed his hand. He felt a lot better, but the smell was still just as strong.

"Who are those people?" Velma asked out of the corner of her mouth, opening a third bottle of beer. She was still steady on her feet, and Jacob spared a moment of wonder for her tolerance. Draining that many beers so close together on an empty stomach wasn't something he was sure even his dad could do, and his dad was an experienced drinker.

"Those are the Cullens. Stay away from them, they're bad news."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the info," she took a sip of her beer, slowing her pace down. Now that he was pleasantly buzzed, he could borderline bear to be here, even though his paranoia was still shrieking about Stranger Danger and the exits being partially blocked with people.

Across the room, the Cullens winced in sync when they caught the scent of Jacob in the house. Alice located him first, and raised her eyebrows at the cloud of perfume surrounding the woman standing beside him. How could Black even breathe next to that much? It was so intense that she could barely make out a semblance of a personal signature beneath it. She frowned. It was unusually musky…was she aroused or just heavy on the testosterone?

She decided that the woman must be aroused, because that level of testosterone was unnatural and potentially deadly. There was just no way that it could be what her subconscious half-heartedly suspected. Male Cross dressers, or "female impersonators", were always a lot more obvious than that, and tended to wear evening gowns and sparkly false eyelashes, not old lady dresses and sensible make-up. She was just butch.

Beside her, she could see Edward frowning. She touched his foot with hers before he could go find Bella, and he transferred his thoughts to her.

_The woman beside the mongrel is blank. She has no thoughts and no aura. And not in the same way Bella is invisible to me; this woman seems to absorb the space around her instead of fill it._

Alice began to frown too, turning it over and over in her mind. It was a puzzle, and she liked puzzles. She let Edward go find Bella, and then pulled Jasper into a quiet corner to whisper the new puzzle to him. He looked surreptitiously at the mystery woman and raised his eyebrows. He bent his head down and whispered,

"Her emotions are a wreck! It's a wonder she can function, but I think that explains the blood alcohol level. I would drink myself to death if I felt the way she did."

Harry started to lean against Jacob, caught himself, and stopped. Jacob snorted and suggested that they go sit down somewhere now that there were some available seats. Dinner was going to be served soon (they'd already been there for almost two hours! How did time pass like that?), but some guests had already come and gone. This was more like an open house than a dinner party, now that Harry could sort of think about it.

It was hard to think with four beers on an empty stomach and no alternative fluids. He stole Jake's latest soda and took a large gulp before handing it back. Jake looked at him with some concern.

"Hey, are you feeling okay?"

"Oh, I feel splendid!"

He raised his eyebrows and leaned slightly away. The sudden enthusiasm was a kind of scary. Seeing what kind of state she was in, he decided now was as good a time as any other to ask her some questions that were on his mind, "So, I really appreciate you coming here with me. Can I ask why, though?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You're absolutely lush and quite the nosh, so why would I even consider not coming? It would be a waste to turn you down, sweetheart," half of what she said was slurred, and she slid down in her seat so that she could slouch more comfortably.

He tried to decipher what she said, but had no luck. What the fuck was a nosh, anyway? Was that a compliment? He looked around the room while he thought about it, and saw Edward hovering close to Bella while she talked to a snooty girl with long blonde hair. He wasn't sure, but he thought that her name might've been Lauren. If she was indeed the Lauren that Bella told him about when they were still real friends, then why was she talking to Bella? He thought they hated each other.

Velma stirred, and then muttered, "She's sucking up to Bella because she is popular now and will soon be rich by proxy to the Cullen's fortune."

"Gah! See? You totally just read my mind!" he accused, pointing his finger in her face. She mumbled something and craned her head forward just enough to clamp her teeth around his knuckle. He snatched his hand back and saw that she'd drawn blood, "Ow, damn it! What was that for?"

"For being ungrateful."

He sighed. This was just weird. He decided to change the subject for the sake of their mutual sanity.

"Why are you always so modestly dressed? Compared to other girls, you wear an entire bedspread every day."

"Well, actually I have a very beautiful body to contrast with my more masculine face. I'm just self-conscious about it, so I prefer to keep my collars high and my skirts long."

He thought about this, and then couldn't resist asking, "How beautiful?"

"You know the Venus di Milo? I look like that."

They were interrupted when Bella dislodged from Lauren and came over to sit beside Jacob. Edward disappeared into the kitchen, and Velma stuck her tongue out at his back.

"Hey guys…um, Jake, you never introduced me to your friend. Hi there, I'm Bella Swan."

Velma nodded, "Yeah, I know. Great party by the way; thanks for having us."

"Oh, you're so welcome!" nervousness flickered over her face as she tried to think of a good topic for conversation. She settled on, "So, what do you do?"

"I'm a teacher."

Bella took a bite of the brownie she had wrapped in a napkin, and asked, "Have you ever considered getting a real job instead of teaching your whole life?"

Jacob winced. Somehow he knew that remark was not going to go over well, no matter how nice Bella was about it or how good her intentions were.

The most sarcastic look he'd ever seen in his life formed on Velma's face. He decided to stop cringing and just enjoy this. Velma looked skyward in mock wonder, and then said in a ditzy voice, "Work, gosh. I…I'd like to give it a try."

"You should! No offense, but being a teacher is kind of a dead-end job. You look like a uh…_smart _girl!"

Velma snorted, "Sweetheart, how old are you?"

"Eighteen. Why?"

"And how old do you think I am?" she propped herself up on her elbows so that Bella could clearly see her face around Jacob.

"Um…"

"I'm twenty-three. If I can calculate correctly, that makes me five years older than you. I graduated early, and started working right away. This is my third teaching job, and I picked this location for my peace of mind, not my skill level. I've done guest lectures at sixteen universalities, none of them minor schools, and was an honor student all through school. I think I can make my own decisions, but thanks for your opinion."

Bella opened her mouth, and then shut it. She just lost her first pissing contest. Edward came back, and she excused herself, waving at Jake. He waved back, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing until he was gone. Then he burst out into hysterical chuckles and had to bury his face in his sleeve so that people would stop looking at him like he was crazy. It didn't help when Velma started cracking up too.

When they got their giggles out, he asked if what she'd said was true.

"Fuck no! I'm smart, but not in the public accolades kind of way. I leave that sort of thing to Hermione. She just needed a little sting to help her understand that you can't just go through life patronizing people. It tends to make you unpopular."

Dinner was called, so that went into the kitchen and got their food. When they were done eating, they said good-bye to Mr. Swan and left. The original plan was for them to stay until Billy was ready to leave so that they could drive him home, but Billy decided at the last minute that he might as well just spend the night because of some big sports thing that was on TV the next day that he would come over for anyway.

"Do you want to come in?" Velma asked when they pulled into the muddy lot that served as her driveway.

"Sure. I probably need to make sure you don't fall on your face, anyway," he got out and circled the car to help her down.

She laughed and said, "But at least I'd get a free mud facial. Those things are expensive if you go to a spa!"

"If you say so," he supported her up the steps and inside. He glanced at the clock and sighed when he remembered that he had a paper that he really should write if he was going to make sure that his patrol stayed on schedule tomorrow.

Setting her against the couch, he helped her remove her raincoat, which seemed to be giving her problems because she was cursing it and fumbling with the fastenings. Their hands got tangled up trying to sort out the zipper and snaps, and then he looked up at the same time she did.

He looked into her eyes, which were bright green even in the gloom of her unlit house behind the rims of her glasses. He leaned forward, and she didn't pull away. He leaned forward some more, and then lunged down and kissed her before she could do anything or he could have second thoughts.

Kissing her was not like he thought it would be. Her mouth was soft, but the way she used it spoke of control and experience. Considering that the last time he kissed someone he was eight, it wasn't hard to top him in experience but he had the feeling that this was still beyond him. Her fingers snaked into his hair and she stood on her toes to get closer. He wrapped his arms around her, and raised one hand to touch her hair. His fingers barely grazed it before she pulled suddenly away from him.

When he tried to move closer again, she stopped him by putting her hands against his chest.

"Shit, shit, shit! Jake, we can't do this. Please leave, before we make this any worse."

Sanity returned reluctantly, and he backed away from her before turning and leaving. He unconsciously slammed the door behind him. What did he just do?

Alone in his living room, Harry slowly rounded the couch and sank into it. He was numb everywhere but his lips, which still tingled. That was close, too close.

000

End chapter 24

HA! Make of that what you will, my dears.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: I WILL BE OUT OF TOWN. I am leaving tomorrow for the weekend, and then I am leaving Tuesday the 9th for a debate tournament and will not be back until the 14th.

Chapter Twenty-Five

After showering the smell of cheap beer and food off, he stood in front of the mirror and looked honestly at himself. It wasn't an unattractive face that looked back at him, but he didn't look like a celebrity either. Why was he famous? He wasn't the famous type.

His hair was starting to grow back in honest, about an inch long now. He scuffed his hand along it, enjoying the sensation. Because of the wig, he couldn't pull at his hair when he was frustrated anymore. He gave an experimental tug and smiled at his reflection. The smile faded when he remembered what happened earlier that day. The kiss never should've happened. He still wasn't sure what possessed him to kiss back, but it was the stupidest thing he'd done in years by far. He might not be 23, but he was still 20 and the difference between a 17-year-old boy and a 20-year-old man couldn't be ignored.

This crush had to stop, before one or both of them got in any deeper than they were already. He hated the thought of his rejection hurting Jake, but accepting him would do far more damage. He would have to tell him that he was a man, and then, even if Jake kept quiet about it, things would never be the same between them.

He groaned and left the bathroom, not wanting to look himself in the eye any longer. In a world where everyone gets their lumps, he didn't want Jake to get any lumps. With a disabled father to take care of, Jake didn't need sexual tension with a teacher.

He decided to take a walk to clear his head, and wrote a note to Hermione on the back of the one she left for him, stating that she was in La Push buying some new hiking boots, to let her know where he was. He didn't know how long it would take him to calm down, and there was a chance that he could spend the entire night listlessly wandering the trees.

For reasons he couldn't explain if you asked him, he chose to forego his raincoat and usual flashlight and shotgun. Maybe he had a death wish, or he just couldn't be bothered to care about self-defense right now, be it from the elements or strange furry creatures. The door shut with a click behind him, and the steps croaked ominously as he descended them. Feeling them sag beneath him, he decided to reinforce the boards tomorrow if he couldn't get Hermione to fix them with a spell. It was times like this one that made him really miss the conveniences of magic.

The woods seemed the welcome him when he stepped into their depths. The underbrush stroked his hips as he walked, and the leaves crackled greetings beneath his feet. Pausing to look up as a gust of wind disturbed raindrops hanging on the leaves, he let the rain caress his face. He still felt like there was a hurricane inside of him, and that he was being pulled every which way by what he wanted and what was the right thing to do, but he felt a little bit better now.

He walked for he didn't know how long, numb with the damp chill of the forest and just on the cusp of chattering his teeth. His fingers lost feeling a while ago; his hair was plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck.

Still, he walked. Dimly, he knew that he was walking close to the water, but had no desire to break out of the cover of the trees yet. The forest was like a womb with its darkness and its closeness, and he was loath to leave its comforting presence.

Something stirred nearby. He stilled, listening. The sound was not repeated, so he took a few more steps, only to hear it again. It was a queer rustling. It sounded almost…deliberate. Like whatever it was only rustled for his benefit. He shook his head, thinking that maybe the cold and the damp was making him delusional.

But then it came again, and it was definitely deliberate this time. He turned around and saw a figure crouching in the shadow of a tree. It was furry, but indistinct in shape. It batted at the bush beside it, making the rustling sound he'd heard before. He frowned. What kind of animal was this? His hand went to his back, but then he remembered that he stupidly didn't bring his gun with him.

Fuck.

His shoulders were starting to tense up, and he was supernaturally aware of the penknife in his pocket. Would it be enough to take whatever this was down? Probably not, knowing his luck; so died the great Harry Potter- wandering the woods at night, unarmed, he was mauled to death by a malicious animal.

While he was thinking, the beast had crept closer. It left the direct shadow of the tree, but the crisscrossing branches above kept it indistinct. He swallowed and looked around, spotting a freshly-fallen branch. It was thin, little more than a switch. If he broke it in half…

The beast lunged, and its weight flung him back against his ground. He lashed out with one hand, catching the monster in the throat before it could bite him and with the other hand he grasped for the stick. He missed, and had to roll to get some kind of advantage. Something was tangling with his legs.

He frowned, and then his mind started screaming warnings when he realized that they were legs. Human legs, to be exact. The light was different now, and he caught the faint outline of a face, framed with the hood of what must be a floor-length fur coat. The man jerked up, seizing Harry by the hips and twisting cruelly. He felt something snap, and bile came up his throat and tried to escape out the corners of his mouth.

"I can smell her on you."

The voice was more refined than he was expecting, a clear tenor that rang slightly in the clearing. He was flipped onto his back again, and his arms were seized and held over his head with one hand of his opponent.

He pulled back his hood, and grinned toothily down at him, "It's too bad that Edgar isn't here for this. After all, it was _his _girlfriend that you killed, not mine. To tell the truth, I'm surprised no one figured out it was you who killed her. You are the closest person to the site of the crime, and the silver-edged knife you keep in your dresser drawer could very well have inflicted the wound that took her life."

Harry froze, ceasing his struggles as he tried to catch up to what he was being told, "You were in my house?!"

He smirked, "But of course. I prefer to know my food before I eat it. I don't like eating strangers, if you know what I mean. It always felt too…impersonal."

Food? Was this person a cannibal? And who was he supposed to have killed?

"I don't know what you're talking about! I've never seen you before in my life! Look, if I don't even know _your name, _how could I kill somebody you knew? Just because I own a knife doesn't make me a murderer. Come on, stop fucking around and let me go. Everybody knows that cannibals don't just grab people in the woods anymore, so I'm not buying that bullshit," contrary to the reasonable tone he took at the end of his sentence; he bucked his hips and tried to throw him off. He jolted him up, and managed to free his arms. He grasped for the stick and snapped it in half.

The sharp edge flashed in the gray gloom, lily white inside.

The man was up again, though, and sent a kick at Harry's ribs. He rolled out of the way, but the edge of his boot clipped him in the ribs and he felt something crackle. He grabbed at his legs, and knocked him off balance. They rolled around in the mud, trying to get an advantage over the other. It didn't help that the man kept snapping his teeth at him, like he was trying to take a bite out of him.

He kneed him in the crotch, and took advantage of the momentary loosening of fingers on his shirt to flip him onto his back and bring the stick up and then down. It snapped through his ribcage and buried itself in the ground below, pinning him in place.

A whoosh of something came out of his mouth a second later, knocking Harry to the side and bending a young sapling almost in half. The trees creaked their protest, and a shower of rain and loose leaves floated on down to land on Harry and the clearing. He dared to look, and blinked the rain out of his eyes, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his pants (only to get mud on them, which meant that he had to use his sock to clean them) and putting them back on. He looked at the stick standing proudly upright in the mud, and then around at the forest.

The forest was deathly still.

Then he remembered a particular series of lessons in Defense against the Dark Arts, and the bile came back. Now that the adrenaline of the fight was gone, he felt like someone had come at his pelvis with a sledge hammer. Gingerly lifting the hem of his shirt, he saw that the skin was broken from the force and already blushing an angry red.

He tried not to think about Vampires as he stumbled home, clinging to the trees. After an hour of agony, he swallowed his pride and dropped to his knees. This made it harder to breathe around the pain in his ribs, but it was better than the pressure of his hips. He didn't know how he was going to make it to work the day after tomorrow, and he couldn't afford to not show up. If he wanted to stay here, he needed to be a regular but background fixture of the school and _not draw attention to himself._

He vomited twice on the way, the second batch laced with blood. His mouth tasted like metal for the rest of the way.

Vampires. The word surfaced as he crawled up the steps to the front door, and followed him as he made his way to the bathroom and buried his face in the toilet to vomit for the third time. His entire body hurt now, the pain spreading out from his throat to his stomach to his back and soon every nerve in his body was furious with him.

But…Vampires. There were Vampires here. It explained the attack before, the beast he couldn't pinpoint the breed of. The long coat the Vampire was wearing felt like the fur he'd grasped as he fought off the last creature, and he was accused of killing someone with his knife…

He levered himself up slowly and made it to the kitchen. He seized the nearest bottle of wine and opened it by smashing it against the inside of the sink, scattering glass fragments. He leaned against the counter for support as he sucked the liquid down his burning throat, hating the vinegar taste of it but needing something, anything, to dull the shock of his revelation. There were Vampires in the woods. He walked in those woods every chance he got, armed with merely a shot gun. Were they watching him, just waiting for him to slip up like he had tonight? He knew they were in his house.

His eyes widened. Did they attack Hermione?! He put the wine down and hobbled over to the stairs, groaning with every step. He grabbed a knife from the block as he passed it, and moved on his hands and knees up the stairs. At the top, he hung onto the railing until he could take the pain that walking would cause.

She was asleep in bed when he opened the door, her neck smooth and untouched in the light of the lamp she forgot to turn off. A heavy book was lying on her chest, still open and scribbled all over with her notes. He heaved a relieved sigh and reached over to turn off the lamp. She mumbled in her sleep and turned her face away from him. He leaned against the wall and just watched her chest rise and fall for a while. She was alive, she was alright, and they didn't hurt her.

Through the window, he watched the sky turn faintly pink as dawn broke. The sky was turning a very faint blue, cloudless and beautiful for the first time in ages.

He went into his room when he couldn't take the pain anymore, and got out the first aid kit. The first thing he grabbed was the little white bottle of painkillers, taking six of them in one dry, bitter swallow.

Next he spread the salve Luna gave him over his hips where he was bleeding, knowing dimly that he should clean the mud out immediately but…not…having…the…energy…

He fell asleep.

Hermione lightly slapped his face to wake him up the next morning, and he blearily saw that she had a box of potions next to her on the floor. She raised her eyebrows at him, taking in his mud-smeared clothes and the bloody scabs on his hips protruding over the top of his jeans.

"Do you want to tell me what happened to you, or should I just guess?"

He tried to open his mouth, only to discover that it was painfully dry and tasted like vomit. She handed him a glass of water and held his head up while he drank as much as he dared. His bruised stomach gurgled in warning, and he winced at the pain in his insides.

He tried to speak again, this time succeeding, "Find some yew wood, sharpen it into stakes, and put them in the freezer. Don't ask, just do it. And ask the faeries ward the property."

"Fine, fine, but first I'm going to give you something for…well, for whatever it is that bruised your ribs. Really, I almost wish that I didn't know how to do a diagnostic charm. I'd feel less sick right now," she conversationally commented, reaching into her potions box and uncorking two vials. She held up his head again and fed him water in between the potions.

He felt immediately better, and stroked her hands to express his gratefulness since his throat still felt like he'd swallowed glass and he didn't want to aggravate it by trying to talk.

"You silly goose," she sighed, helping him up and into bed, "Lie here and try to sleep. I'll make you some soup after I finish getting the stakes. I'm going to be nice today, because you're injured, but you have to tell me what the hell is going on tomorrow. I mean it," she wagged a finger in his face like he was a naughty boy, "No leaving me in the dark. This isn't school anymore, and I deserve to know whatever shit you've stepped in this time."

He nodded, and she smiled. She ran her hand through his hair, "Your hair is growing out, I see. You're lucky it's the same color. You could've been a redhead like your mum."

Or like Ginny, he mentally added. He squeezed her hand before she could go, and she gave him one last long-suffering look before skipping blithely out of the room.

000

End chapter 25

Finally an update, not that you can look forward to regular ones.


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Just another reminder, but I will be out of town from Tuesday to Friday. If I can muster the energy, I will update Saturday.

Chapter Twenty-Six

He slept most of Sunday, only waking up to use the restroom and when Hermione fed him potions. His stomach felt numb, so he didn't dare eat anything. His dreams were confused and violent, shifting situations bewildering him more than usual. He saw Hogwarts, then Hogwarts so over-run by Dementors that only the very highest towers could be glimpsed. Dumbledore died three times, twice by freezing and the final time by Snape lunging at his throat, fangs bared-

He had to stay awake for a while after that one. But he couldn't stay awake for long (he suspected that Hermione snuck a sleeping pill into his tea), so before he could even read one whole chapter of his book he was asleep again, his chin on his chest. And then he dreamed about Jacob.

At first he wasn't sure if it was a dream at all. He was standing in front of his class, giving a brief explanatory lecture about one of the main conflicts in their current reading material, and spreading his eye contact evenly amongst his students as was his usual habit. He used Snape's subtle trick of staring at a student until they looked up if they weren't paying attention, and then narrowing his eyes in the manner you would look at a slug. It was very effective, and he had no trouble guilting his students into paying close attention to the few times he lectured.

Everything was going as usual, but then he met Jacob's eyes. He was puzzled by a glimmering light on his cheeks until he realized that they were drying tear tracts. The eyes weren't friendly. They were hurt, vulnerable, and furious. The fury fought with the pain, and he felt his stomach twist into knots as he tried to rationalize what he was seeing. Why was Jacob so furious with him? But then he remembered the kiss, and his rejection.

He stopped lecturing, his throat closing and derailing his train of thought. The others students shifted around nervously, murmuring. Then they simply seemed to slide away like frost in the sun, their murmurs getting quieter and quieter until there was only silence, and it was just him and Jacob. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, tried to explain why he pushed him away. Fresh tears clouded Jacob's eyes, and he shook his head.

"Please say something, anything. Explain yourself!"

He felt like he was being suffocated. Everything was too hot, too close, and he couldn't breathe. The air turned to fire, and his lungs ignited. He looked down and saw them burn through his dress, burn through his skins. Flames roared around them, but left Jacob untouched. His tears turned to steam and vanished. Harry tried to open his mouth a final time, but found that his tongue was a useless blackened slice of flesh and useless to speak with.

The world tilted, still aflame and he sank down onto the charred floor tiles. He could still see Jacob, but Jacob wasn't looking at him anymore. He was looking at something just beyond Harry's line of sight, and he stood and walked towards it. He walked away from Harry, to a place where he couldn't see or hear or smell him anymore. He would never get to touch him again-

He woke with Hermione shaking him. His sheets were tangled strangle-tight around his neck and his comforter somehow got over his head, creating the lack of air and heat. He groaned and helped her untangle him. She shook her head, smiling a little.

"Silly you, getting wrapped in your blankets like that. You're lucky you have me around to make sure you don't accidentally kill yourself. Sheesh," she fondly patted his cheek and then slid in bed next to him, stealing the covers, "How are you feeling?"

"What time is it?" he asked instead of answering, knowing that his answer would be different depending on her answer.

"It's four in the morning. Today is Monday, and it's a beautiful rainy day," she responded, wiggling her toes against his. He smiled and wiggled his back. He couldn't help it; he was a sucker for Hermione's affectionate moods when they happened.

"In that case I feel like shit, but not shitty enough to laze around in bed all day. I've got to be at work in a few hours. Be a love and go run a bath for me? As hot as you can make it, like you're boiling a lobster," he playfully shoved her out of bed, and she stuck out her tongue before going downstairs. He sighed, left alone for now, and tried not to think about what his dream meant. Hopefully it wasn't one of those prophetic dreams, which would mean that the school would burn down and Jacob hated his guts.

He started to crawl out of bed, hating the way his body objected even to him moving his eyes too quickly. He winced when his feet hit the floor, partially from pain and partially from cold. They really needed to get the radiators looked at.

Bathing stung a good deal, but his bruises liked it, so he was keeping at least part of his body happy with him, which was more than most days. Hermione even helped him wash his hair, which was something he usually neglected these days on account of nobody important being around to see it.

Getting dressed was considerably more bothersome than bathing. In the end they wrapped thin strips of bandages multiple times around the bruised sections of his body to hold him steady, like an infant in swaddling clothes. She helped him button up the back of his dress and lace his boots, because the bandages prevented him from stretching his arms back or bending a certain distance down. He needed to remember to put his briefcase on his desk and not next to it, lest he have some humiliating issue later on.

Lord knows he didn't need to give Martin anything else to snigger at him about.

He had a cigarette with breakfast and kissed Hermione goodbye before setting off for school. It was indeed raining, and he was reminded why he despised damp tobacco all over again. By the time he reached the school, he was muddy to his knees, the freezing water and mud having penetrated the thick socks he was wearing today instead of hosiery. The socks went up past his knees, so there was no chance of a scandalous flash of teacherly flesh.

Anxiety shot through him when he rounded the corner and saw the school ahead. Until now he'd been able to distract himself with the pain he was in, with the sorry condition of his boots, with what the rain was doing to his morning smoke, but those couldn't shield him from the future anymore. He would see Jacob shortly, in less than an hour to be exact. What would he do? Would he do or say anything outside of the ordinary? Would he pretend Saturday never happened …or would he confront him? He didn't know if he could handle that, not after what happened on Sunday.

He swallowed and got rid of his cigarette. His legs felt sluggish and stiff, and it took him twice as long as usual to reach the building. His body wanted him to sit down somewhere to give it a rest, but his mind insisted that he drag his feet.

Despite his best efforts, he made it to his office. Remembering at the last minute to put his brief case on the desk and not the floor, he sat down in his chair. The classroom was empty and looked the same as it always did, but he couldn't help but think about his dream, imagining flames scaling the walls and extinguishing the eye-murdering fluorescent lights. The clock ticked quietly in the background as he unpacked his brief case. He looked around the room again when he was done, taking in the expectant feeling that seemed to steep everything in steely blue. Suddenly he couldn't take the open emptiness of it anymore. With a groan he set off for the bathroom. He made sure that it was the women's before entering, and then ensured that it was empty before he sat in a stall. It was filthy and he hated to sit on the seat, but he hurt too much to stand up. Fumbling in his pocket, he found his cigarettes and some matches.

He lit up and leaned against the graffiti-decorated wall. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to relax, little knowing that Jacob was just as nervous.

Jacob was early, which he hated, but he barely slept all weekend and couldn't bear to stay in bed any longer than necessary. The positive side of his impromptu insomnia was that he got a lot of work done in the shop and took extra patrol shifts so his pack mates could relax over the weekend. By some unhappy accident he ended up on patrol with Sam, but Sam was surprisingly tolerable and didn't try to pick a fight with him.

He crammed his stuff into his locker and decided to walk the halls a little bit. He liked to imagine what places were like when he wasn't normally around, so he didn't mind the emptiness of the school. A secretary walked past him without acknowledging him. She'd worked here for as long as he could remember, but she never once smiled at any of the students that he could see.

He sighed and put his hands in his pockets. Because of his extra patrols he didn't have to do anything tonight, so he was wearing his last pair of long pants. It felt kind of strange wearing them now, but in a good way. It was almost…nostalgic. His mind supplied that he hadn't felt this way since he met Velma, and he choked a little.

All weekend he tried not to think about what she must think of him, dreading a phone call to his father detailing his inappropriate pass at her. It was bad enough that she probably hated him now, but he didn't want to bring his dad into it. His dad had enough going on with trying to maintain peace with the other Elders, most of which weren't too happy about the Pack's usurpation of Sam.

Someone came out of the bathroom in his peripheral vision, so he turned on instinct to see who it was just as an all-too-familiar blend of musk and perfume hit his nose. It smelled like heaven. It was Velma, in the act of putting her cigarettes back into her pocket. She looked up and jerked when she noticed him. He couldn't help but notice that she looked worse for wear, with dark circles under her eyes and a queer drained look to her cheeks. He wondered if she also found sleep impossible over the weekend, and if she was okay.

Neither of them spoke, not knowing what to say. He could see that she was slowly turning red, and felt his cheeks do the same. She looked down, and then back at him.

"Jake-"

"Please, please, don't say anything to my dad about it!"

He didn't know why he said it, and she seemed just as taken-aback as he was. After a moment she continued.

"I won't tell anybody what happened, since the entire situation was inappropriate and never should've happened. I should have said no when you asked me to be your date. I am your teacher and I should be more aware of what kind of messages I send to my pupils. I apologize for the situation and I assure you that I will do everything in my power to make sure that it doesn't happen again. You are a very intelligent young man, Jake, and I'm sure that you understand why we need to put some distance between us now. This doesn't mean that I will ignore or avoid you, but I do think that we should keep things professional from now on."

Jake nodded, knowing that she was right but hating it. He didn't want them to go back to the way they were before, with him wondering what she was like from the back of the classroom and dying to get to know her. It would be worse now, actually, because he knew what kind of person she was, but not really. He knew just enough to tantalize him.

She looked like she was going to walk away, but caught her breath and quietly said, "In love I do not want to play the old submissive game, nor have I use for the ultra-modern maybe-I-will-and-maybe-I-won't-and-anyhow-watch-your-step game. I…I understand how confusing it can be to have, uh, feelings for someone you can't be with. I will try to be sensitive to how you feel about me, and maybe we'll get lucky and this crush will fade painlessly…for both of us."

He swallowed and nodded again, turning to watch her back as she left. Things could've gone a lot worse, but that didn't make him feel any less like he'd just been punched in the stomach. He didn't know if he could handle this, especially if what she hinted was what he thought it was. Did she like him back? After all, she _did _kiss him back for a good amount of time before she pulled away.

Shaking his head, he headed for the doors and waited outside until the other students arrived. The cold made it easier for him to calm down, and by the time the bell rang he was calm enough to endure seeing her again without transforming.

In hindsight, he didn't know how he made it through the week. Somehow he kept it together and behaved naturally enough for no one in the Pack to make any comments.

On Friday afternoon, when he was working on his weekend assignments, Leah showed up and knocked on his doorframe. He looked up and nodded at her to show that she could come in. She sat on the bed next to him and watched him work for a few minutes before saying, "I'm having a 'Pack togetherness' tomorrow night on the beach. Can you make it? If not, no worries. I want the Pack meetings to be for fun, not obligatory things people feel like they _have _to go to. We'd love to have you, though. A bonfire just isn't the same without you there."

He grunted, pretending to work on a math problem. She hesitated, and then reached out and touched his neck. He froze.

"I know you've been down lately, Jake, and on behalf of the whole Pack I just want to say that you can tell us or not tell us what is bothering you and we will still be there for you. We love you, and we just want you to be happy. None of likes seeing you like this."

Apparently he didn't do as good of a job acting normal as he thought. He bit his lip and nodded, looking at her for the first time. The expression on her face wasn't one that he'd seen for a while, not since before Sam. It was soft and compassionate. She lightly squeezed his neck before removing her grip.

"I'll be there," he called just as she was leaving. She paused and turned to regard him with a raised eyebrow, "Tomorrow, I mean. I'll be there. Save me a beer."

She smiled, "That's my boy."

He smiled back and then went back to his assignments. For the first time all week he felt excited about something.

000

He knew it was stupid, but he couldn't handle not knowing what the Vampire situation was exactly anymore. This time he wore his dress (in case he needed to go into town or talk to a state trooper), which had its pros and cons for combat. Its length allowed him to strap two knives to his thighs and hide the sharpened stakes of yew wood, but it also caught on branches from time to time if he didn't watch his step. He didn't bother to conceal his shotgun, strapping it to his back. Flashlight in hand, he set off to brave the woods just as dusk was falling.

Three hours later, he was almost disappointed that nothing tried to attack him, not even an ordinary bear that he crossed paths with. Did the Vampires only attack when he was unarmed? From what he remembered, though, a shotgun could only slow them down, not kill them.

He sighed and kept walking, moving in the direction of the beach. That was where he was the last time he was attacked, after all, so maybe that was where they had a settlement? He broke through the trees and saw a bonfire in the distance. Perhaps the Vampires were keeping their distance tonight because of the people on the beach.

It was cold tonight, come to think of it. If he was lucky they wouldn't mind if he came over and warmed his hands, for just a moment…

By the time he could see that it was a group of young people from the Reservation, they could see him and it would be weird for him to ignore them. Coming even closer, he spotted Leah sitting next to Jacob on one of the logs circling the fire.

A flash of jealousy flared up, and his jaw tightened before he remembered Leah's preferences. Then, again, most people could make an exception for Jacob in that area, so maybe things weren't as innocent between them as he assumed and- he bit his tongue when he realized that he was obsessing over something that was none of his business. Jacob wasn't his boyfriend, and Leah was his friend. He had no right to be unhappy about anything that they might start together.

Leah spotted him and waved, yelling, "Velma, is that you?!"

"Yeah, it's me!" he called back, grinning and feeling lighter already. Hearing her voice brought back the realization that she was his friend, and the jealousy skulked away. He noticed that the majority of the people sitting around the fire were wearing very little clothing, and seemingly paid the cold no mind. He came up to the fire and held out his hands to warm them, and joked, "What are you, the La Push equivalent of Beach Bunnies? Jesus, whatever happened to wearing clothes on chilly nights?"

Leah smirked at Velma and retorted, "You know, you really shouldn't make fun of the way other people dress when you're dressed like somebody's grandma."

He snorted in amusement and then solemnly met her eyes, deciding that a little bit of the truth couldn't hurt, "Actually, I'm in mourning."

Leah raised her eyebrows, "For whom?"

He rattled off the familiar too-long list of names, finishing with, "and my fiancé Ginny."

Jacob, sitting quietly on the sidelines and trying not to give any sign that Velma was the one occupying his thoughts so much that past week, was stricken by the supposed knowledge that Velma really was a lesbian. Until now he had trouble believing it, simply because Leah was prone to messing with him and he really wasn't sure what was going on with that Hermione girl.

Harry knew that mentioning Ginny was only going to stir up even more rumors about his sexuality, and confuse Jake, but he wasn't going to clarify or take back what he said. Maybe it could help Jacob's crush fade.

Even though he didn't exactly _want _the crush to fade, to tell the truth; knowing that Jake was just as fascinated with him as he was drawn to him was more warming than the fire, and he didn't want that to end. But it had to end. They couldn't go on like this.

Leah invited him to sit down for a while, but he waved a hand and said that he needed to walk home. She shrugged but let him go.

Jake slowly let out the breath he was holding, hoping that nobody noticed his lapse.

000

End chapter 26

Longer update this time, because I feel shitty about leaving (not that its voluntary)


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: I'm back from the tournament, and I am going to the Regional debate! This means I did very well.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jasper leaned against Carlisle's desk and waited for him to finish the tax report he was working on before speaking. Carlisle clicked his pen closed and looked up at him expectantly.

"There's been another incident. Guess who died this time?"

Carlisle rubbed his hands together and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair, "Who? Anyone we knew?"

"Yeah. Remember Victoria's man, Edgar? His crazy brother got himself killed on the wolves' land."

He frowned, "What, Willkie? What was he doing over there?"

Jasper shrugged, "I don't know, but I think we can assume that he brought it upon himself. I just thought that you should know."

"Who told you?"

"Alice had a dream."

"Oh."

They nodded to one another, and Jasper turned to go. At the door he paused and turned his head, adding, "Actually, the interesting part about her dream was that it wasn't a wolf that killed him. It wasn't an Indian either. It was a white woman, about twenty-two, by her guess."

Carlisle's frown returned, "What? That can't be right."

"Well, that's what she saw."

"Alright, thank you for telling me."

Jasper smirked, "No problem. I can't say I'm upset about the evil little bastard's death, though."

000

Things were alright between him and Jacob after that night on the beach. They acknowledged each other when they came across each other around town by nodding, but neither made any move to speak to the other outside of class. And even then Harry only called on him when he absolutely had to. Theoretically, he should've been happy about this new turn of events.

But the truth was, he wasn't. He was absolutely miserable. To make matters worse, he began wondering if his feelings for Jacob were somehow a betrayal of Ginny. He'd really loved her- he never would've asked her to marry him if he didn't. He used to think that she was the only person he would ever truly love, man or woman, and he thought that it would last forever. Come to think of it, if they'd both died, it _would _have been forever. Maybe even happily ever after, in some glorious afterlife where his parents were perfect and Sirius wasn't a bastard to Snape, who really didn't deserve that kind of treatment.

He didn't die, though. He was still alive, and because he was alive he wasn't going to try and change that. He wanted to kill himself some days like most people, but deep down he knew that he could never do that. Hermione would collapse without him, and everything would go even more to shit on the 'other side'. His parents would be so disappointed. Besides, he still hadn't done something that he considered to be truly great yet. Sure, what he did for the Second War would look incredible (and incredibly controversial) in the history books, but he had no personal sense of fulfillment from what he did. A lot of people owed their lives to him, and a lot died for it, but he still didn't feel like his purpose was over.

Knowing his luck, some bint in an ivory tower made a new prophecy about him and the nightmarish cycle would begin again, with new nightmares and new losses this time around.

Hermione set a cup of tea in front of him, and he looked up at her. She was holding a book in one hand, reading as she walked away. He whistled to catch her attention, and she looked over her shoulder at him, her free hand on the frame.

"Yes, love?"

He saluted her with the mug, "Thanks."

She smiled, "No problem."

Alone again when he heard her bedroom door close, he looked down at the notepapers spread out around him. They were what his book consisted of. He was working on the second draft now, trying to form order out of the countless memories, the content he'd painstakingly transcribed. It was all here. His parent's murder, everything that piled up before it to make it happen, and even how he'd lost his virginity in Mr. Weasley's tool shed.

He smiled wanly at the memory. That was one of the best days of his life, a beautiful summer day that seemed to go on forever, with a new good thing around every hour. The heat was sticky, dense, and almost tangible. The leaden weight of the heat smoothed the water and gave it a metallic sheen. And she was so beautiful that it hurt to look at her, and she was all his.

His throat clenched, but his chest barely hurt. This was good. She wouldn't want him to spend the rest of his life mooning after her, especially when Jacob cared about him. He couldn't help but smile when he thought about what she would say if she was here, and they weren't in love. She'd tell him to fuck the rules and go for it, to tell Jake how he felt and love each other in secret until Jake was old enough to run away with him.

But she wasn't here. And he couldn't do that to Jacob. Jacob was young (though so was he), and didn't know any better.

He sighed. _Now _his chest hurt.

He sipped his tea and started to write again.

000

There was a package waiting for him on the table when he got home Wednesday afternoon, and a note. The note was from Hermione, and simply said,

_We need to talk._

He set that aside and thought about what he could've possibly done that would warrant such a note. He'd been a perfect gentleman, and made sure that she was well-fed and didn't have to work too hard around the house. Not that either of them had to work very hard. The Fairies still loved to help him with whatever he decided to do, attention-hungry and loving little creatures that they were.

The package was large enough to pique his interest, and proved to be heavy when he tried to lift it. Opening it with a butcher knife (the nearest sharp instrument), he found several smaller packages of different sizes surrounded by fluff presumably meant to keep the contents from clashing against one another. He lifted up a small package and unwrapped it.

It was a tea cup, made of exquisite turquoise porcelain. Digging deeper into the box and pulling out the largest package revealed a teapot. He sighed and unwrapped all the pieces and set aside the wrapping until he found a pink envelope taped to the bottom of the box. Inside was a scrap of parchment that was probably torn off while in the middle of a project, and on it was,

_Dear Harry, _

_I know that your birthday isn't for quite some time, but I was going through my things and decided that this would be perfect for you! Because it would be silly to keep it around until your actual birthday when I've already decided that it should belong to you, I've sent it now. I hope that you have a wonderful birthday, even though it's almost November!_

_Much love, _

_Luna Lovegood_

_P.S. How are things going with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome? And don't try to deny it. Crystal balls never lie._

He groaned. Damn it! Couldn't he keep his secrets secret anymore? He hadn't seen Luna since he went into hiding, or exchanged messages with her, so this was just ridiculous! Setting aside the letter, he went to find a pen. Locating one under the sofa where it must've rolled, he wrote on the back of the parchment,

_Luna,_

_Thank you so much for the highly unexpected early birthday gift!I know that what your 'crystal ball' might've shown you can be misconstrued, so I would like to say that although I am gay, I am not gay enough to require a flamboyant tea set. I'm still keeping it, though. Feel free to come visit anytime. I miss you and would love to have a chat and hear what you've been doing lately. _

_Once again, I'm gay but not that gay._

_Harry_

Looking at the tea set again, he wondered how she got her hands on expensive china like this.

Hermione got home several hours later, while he was making dinner, and came to stand beside him while he stirred the soup.

Finally, she asked, "Did you get my note?"

He nodded, "Yeah. What's going on?"

"Nothing bad. I just got a fire call from Neville earlier today, while you were at work, and he wants to spend some time with me."

He turned to look at her, with his eyebrows up, "Oh really?"

"Yeah…he wants to, well, he wants to get back together. And I said yes. So I'm going to go out there for a few weeks, a month at the longest, and then come back here and keep working on the project," she handed him the thyme when he pointed to it, "I just wanted to let you know where I would be."

"Okay. I hope that, whatever happens, you guys are happy."

She smiled and laid her head against his shoulder, "Thanks Harry."

She spotted the tea set on the counter, slightly out of the way so that they wouldn't jostle it with their elbows when they poked in the cabinets. Picking up one of the cups, she brought it over and showed it to him, "Where did this come from? It's beautiful."

He snorted, "That? Luna sent it to me as a very, very early birthday present."

"Oh, so you're accepting gifts now? In that case, I'll be right back."

She disappeared up the stairs, leaving him to figure out how much thyme would be too much. It's never good to add too much of one spice, after all. He just figured it out and was putting away the ingredients when Hermione came back down the stairs. She was damp, so he knew that she was just outside. Now his curiosity was going crazy with anticipation, and he was dying to know what she was holding behind her back.

It was a tortoise shell box, about the size of your average paperback novel. He raised his eyebrows.

"What do I do with it; keep my hair pins in it?"

"No need to be a smart-ass," she reprimanded, removing the lid. Inside was a ribbon-tied stack of all-too-familiar cards, "These are the tarot cards I was supposed to use for Divination. They were actually given to me by my grandmother."

He took the box with a lot more respect now, and touched the crumbling edges of the cards with care, "I wouldn't have thought that anyone in your family liked stuff like this."

She shrugged, "I know. My mother and she didn't get along, so I barely saw her growing up. And then I went to Hogwarts, and I didn't see her at all after that. My mom never told my why, but I can guess. She probably thought that my grandma infected me with her spiritualism and somehow turned me into a witch. Mom never knew that she gave these to me, and I never told her."

"They're beautiful. Thank you for sharing these with me."

"I wasn't going to use them," she smiled, closing his hands around the box, "Take good care of them and make sure that you keep them in the chicken coop."

"What? Why there?"

"Because Muggle gypsies believe that you should never have anything higher than the tarot cards. It insults the gods of fortune, and makes your predictions inaccurate. I'm not saying that I believe that, but, you know," she looked a little awkward, like she usually did when handling something that would normally be one of Luna's things, "just in case."

"Just in case," he murmured after her, enjoying the tingle the box gave his fingerprints.

Tea cups and tarot cards…was the universe trying to make him think about the future too?

000

End chapter 27

Sorry this has less substance then I wanted, but I ran out of time. Daylight savings are a pain.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: I know that my updates have been sporadic, but the truth is that I am feeling unmotivated to write fan fiction these days. This won't be abandoned if I can help it, because I don't want to disappoint anyone, but I am struggling now. I just don't feel the passion for writing fan fiction these days; too much reality.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Velma was sitting at her desk when Martin rapped on the door of her classroom. The door was open in clear invitation, but he knocked anyway. She startled and jerked her head to the side to frown at him. He grinned and stepped inside, scuffing his new shoes against her floor. The rubber left thick black lines in his wake, little gifts for the janitor to find later.

"Well, well, you're not dead."

She huffed, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

He leaned against her desk and stole some cigarettes from her open briefcase, tearing off the plastic and shredding the thin cardboard that was proof that it was a new pack, "You haven't been in the lounge lately, and you always seem to leave before I can say hello to you," he accused, eyes rebuking through the smoke.

She snatched his cigarette and put it out in his coffee cup, "Stop that! You're not allowed to smoke in here and you know it. Are you trying to get fired?"

He shrugged, "Maybe. I had a particularly hard time getting the class listen today, and my faith in the adults of tomorrow is flagging."

Groaning, Velma stood and started stuffing papers into her briefcase willy-nilly, "How lovely. If you leave, I will be left entirely in peace. I'm sure I won't miss you and your endless meddling."

He raised his eyebrows, startled at her ill temper. Looking at her closely, he perceived that she seemed paler than usual. Dark circles marked the undersides of her eyes, and she moved stiffly, wincing every now and then when she bent to pick up some papers that floated off the desk and onto the floor.

"What happened?"

She didn't look up, gritting out between clenched teeth, "What are you on about?"

"Don't be coy, Harry."

She froze, and then continued picking up the fallen papers. "I really wish you wouldn't call me that here. You never know when somebody could be lurking around the corner. If somebody finds out, I'll cut your throat."

He waved a careless hand, "Oh, don't be silly. You couldn't do that to me. Now, stop trying to change the subject. We're going out for drinks, and you're going to tell me why you're acting like you've just been in a car crash. I can't bear to wait another day in breathless anticipation of you telling me why you've been limping."

"And if I say no? I'm not sure getting drinks with a priest is the most morally sensible of decisions." She'd finished with the paper and now stood watching him with her weight balanced on one foot, eyebrows raised in challenge. He grinned. This was why he liked her (or rather, him).

"Now, now, let's not bring up ancient history. Speaking of history, how is that book of yours coming along?"

She raised a shoulder, "Its coming. I decided to go fantasy and make it a series of metaphors instead of saying it in straight language. It was a lot of fun re-writing the boarding school I went to as a training center for magical children."

He was surprised. He didn't know that Harry was the kind of guy who enjoyed fantasy, but then there was only so much you could assume about the personality of someone who thought that dressing like a woman was a good way to avoid the police. Even if it was working, only a certain type of person could come up with something so…backwards.

He changed the subject, "I heard through the grape-cine that you have a young lady staying with you, a brunette with a lot of hair and personality. Is she your girlfriend?"

"It's a long story, but no. actually she's out of town for a while, so I've been alone. She'll be back though. She's doing some research here, and she can never bear to leave a project unfinished or unfulfilled."

Martin nodded slowly, processing this new information. He wasn't so sure that there wasn't something deeper to the relationship Harry had with this young woman, but it really wasn't his place to ask those kinds of questions. Harry broke him out of his thoughts by sighing and saying with charming resignation,

"Come on, let's go get those drinks. You're buying."

"It would be my pleasure," he greased, taking her briefcase from her. He wasn't sure what was wrong with Harry, but he didn't like the thought of her hurt. There was just something about Harry that made him want to keep her safe, even though he knew that that was a ridiculous thing to want. Harry could take care of himself. He didn't need some nearly-50 ex-priest to watch his back for him, no matter how vulnerable he looked on some days.

They avoided the Reservation bar, and took the bus out of town instead. Martin didn't want to run into any former students, and Harry agreed to go somewhere else. Martin didn't know that this was because Harry was afraid that Jacob might be there with some of his older friends, and he didn't know how he would handle that if he was drinking.

The bar they chose was in a little town called Duckpond. They shared a laugh at the name, and wondered for several minutes about why someone felt the need to humiliate countless future generations with such a name. They half-expected to find the streets overrun with ducks, and were disappointed to find no sign of ducks or ponds for them to swim in.

They declined to sit at the bar after ordered several pitchers of beer, and sat instead in a booth towards the back. A few nearby drinkers crowded around a jukebox gave Harry funny looks, but Harry paid them no mind. Martin watched him with interest. That was one of the fascinating little details about Harry: he treated attention like a celebrity would. If he didn't ignore it, he only acknowledged in with detachment, like the people around him were mere background noise.

He hadn't made up his mind about whether this was a good thing or a bad thing yet. Could something like that be considered a fault?

They talked about the book for a while, and he was amazed at the depth of Harry's imagination. The detail he'd given some of the stories was fantastic! He was probably an excellent liar if he could just make up things like different dragon breeds and spell incantations made of jumbled Latin off the top of his head!

After the first pitcher of beer, conversation turned philosophical. Harry became almost gloomy, and abandoned Velma's falsetto for the hoarse, almost husky voice of his masculine identity. Martin decided to risk it and asked about the woman living with him.

Harry laughed and explained that she was the closest person to him still living. She was the most important woman in his life, who'd worn many hats in their long friendship. Sister, mother, nurse, child…and even, once, he confessed, his lover.

Martin burned with curiosity to know how that came about, but Harry was close-lipped, so he ordered a third pitcher of beer. The regulars by the bar who monitored things like that were surprised to see a man in a patched plaid jacket and a lady consumes so much beer but could say nothing. They weren't the questioning sort of men.

Half-way through the beer, Harry cracked and said that his affair with Hermione, as she was called, was the result of grief and too much to drink. It happened on the soccer field of his old school, when he was grieving for some people he very much cared about who were now dead. They were both drunk on stolen whisky, and they talked for what felt like hours. Then, somehow, they'd kissed. They didn't stop there, and the result was that they never spoke about that night ever again. They were still very close, but they made sure to not combine grief that strong with liquor ever again.

He nodded and held Harry's hand as he explained. He wasn't afraid to hold a man's hand when he was upset, which Harry was. A priest learns that fear of society has no place for a priest, whether he abandons the cloth or not.

When Harry finished talking about Hermione, Martin distracted him with funny stories of a canoeing trip he took as a young man with some friends of his. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong during that trip, and he often thought about writing down their adventures. Even if there were already far too many comedies about similar trips, the world could always use a true story.

By the time they drained the third pitcher and started on the fourth, Harry was gloomy. He asked what was wrong, and Harry leaned forward and whispered, "Can I trust you to keep a secret?"

He nodded. He already carried more secrets than he ever managed he could hold, and had no intention of revealing until long after he died.

"I'm in love with somebody."

He nodded again, waiting for more information. Harry took a sip of the ice water the barmaid brought them before continuing.

"You can't tell anybody who it is."

"I promise."

Harry looked relived, and then craned over the table so far he stood, and Martin tilted his ear up to catch the name he whispered.

"Jacob Black."

Well, this was a surprise. He acted normal, even though he was reeling inside, and finished his ice water. When they were both done and he'd paid for the beer, they stumbled out and down the street to the bus stop. He worked up his courage, and asked,

"Why Jacob?"

Harry shrugged, "Fucked if I know. There's just something about him. I can't put my finger on it, but I feel like we understand each other even if we obviously don't. I mean, I barely knew that American Indians existed before I came here, and there is so much about me that I can never tell him or anyone else. It's impossible, and even though we've agreed to wait our feelings out, I can't deny that I hope the feelings _never _go away. I still feel like I'm betraying my fiancé, Ginny, which is stupid because she's dead, but I love Jacob and that's that."

The bus arrived and they climbed aboard, happy to have not missed the last one.

"I didn't know that you were engaged."

Harry nodded, "Yeah, a long time ago. Well, not really that long. It just feels like a long time to me now. She died for a stupid fucked up reason that I still don't understand."

"Ah."

Whatever that meant.

He parted ways with Harry at the bus stop on the Reservation, and watched her walk down the unlit dirt sidewalks towards her house until the night swallowed him. Just when he cleared up one question, two more would appear. Who was Ginny?

000

End chapter 28


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: Thanks to my lack-of-motivation scare, I am now even more determined to finish this story before I lose its thread completely.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Harry didn't make it home after parting ways with Martin. Knowing that the house was empty again (even Deedee was missing again, probably off with the fairies) made the thought of going home unbearably depressing. He walked past it and into the woods. He always carried a stake with him these days, so he was marginally prepared in case a Vampire tried anything, but Vampires weren't the only dangers in the woods.

He wasn't thinking about that, though. His head was heavy with beer, and he had to stop to vomit on a tree's roots. He fuzzily apologized to the tree and walked a little while longer. There was a log up ahead that looked invitingly enough, soggy or not. He sat heavily and fumbled in the pockets of his dress for his cigarettes. He couldn't seem to get a grip on them no matter how he angled his hand, and let out a grunt of frustration. Finally he reached back and undid the buttons on the back of his dress while shimmying his shoulders to get it to fall down. He stood and stepped out of it, clad only in the full-length cotton slip that prevented the dress from clinging too much. Accidentally having the fabric of his skirts cling too closely to his crotch would be very, very bad.

It was chillier in his slip, but he could get his cigarettes now. The beer still flooding his veins, so he felt warm and comfortable even though he was a little gloomy. He'd said more than he meant to at the bar, but he couldn't take it back so there was no use worrying about it.

Except that he _was _worrying about it. What if Martin reported him? He didn't think he would, but if their relationship ever went south, he could get fired.

The beer buzzing through his body told him to let it go for now. He could worry all he liked tomorrow. He relaxed, and fell off the log. Chuckling, he rolled onto his side and just lay on the ground with his cheek pressed against the soft wet moss. A stone pricked into his ribs, and he dug it out before relaxing once more. There were slivers of starlight breaking through the cover of the trees, just enough for him to catch the ghostly swirls of his cigarette smoke as they disappeared. A light mist was falling.

He didn't notice the bear that came over to sit on the log he'd vacated. He was dimly aware of something else breathing out of sync with himself, but somehow rationalized that it was just the trees. He started to doze, his cigarette slipping from his fingers. It landed on his dress, which was crumpled beside him on top of a thistle plant. Smoke rose out of it like gentle growths, and the smell of burning wool began to spread.

The bear rose and lumbered off, passing a wolf the size of a small car that was crouched in the bushes observing the strange lady just lying on the ground all alone.

Jacob caught his breath when he first came across her scent. He was patrolling a new area of the forest tonight, and wasn't expecting to run across anything interesting. Other than the funny look Edward always gave him if he happened to run across him when driving his dad to do something with Charlie, there had been no sign of a Vampire on their territory. Even the bears had been playing nice with the tourists.

He tried to ignore her smell, knowing that he had a job to do. But when he smelled a bear come close to where she was, he changed his mind and went charging as quietly as he could through the underbrush to where she was. She was just lying on the ground, sleeping. The bear was two feet away from her, sitting like a person on a log. Not knowing what to do, because the bear was peacefully eating a can of spam and making no threatening gestures towards her, he waited in the bushes. His muscles ached with the tension of being right on the edge of springing, but he stayed that way until the bear moved on.

Logically, knowing that she was safe again, he should've gone back to his patrol. He didn't. Remaining in wolf form, he padded on the moss over to where she lay. Dipping his nose, he nuzzled her cheek. She smelled strongly of beer and cigarettes, and…

He growled. She smelled like one of his teachers, Mr. Strether.

But wait. Wasn't she a lesbian? No, she couldn't be completely lesbian because she'd kissed him back (and now she smelled like Mr. Strether!). His mind twisted, trying to solve the problem. Maybe she liked men and women? He knew there was a word for this, but he couldn't remember what it was.

And then he realized that she wasn't wearing her habitual black. It was white, and looked rather nice. There was even some lace on the sleeves, which only went to her elbows. She had very muscular fore-arms for a woman.

It took a few minutes for him to realize that she was wearing a slip, and that there was something burning next to him. He stamped on it instinctively, noticing afterwards that it looked very much like one of her dresses.

She started to wake up, mumbling something.

He froze. Fight or flight?

It was too late. She was awake, and watching him muzzily with one eye whilst rubbing the sleep out of the other.

"Urgh, what am I doing on the floor?"

He almost responded before remembering that he was currently a giant wolf. Oh dear. If she freaked out…what if she had a knife? What if she filed some kind of report with the rangers? Damn it, damn it, damn it!

"Is that you, Snuffles? No, never mind. I'm being silly. Come here anyway, Snuffles 2. Help me up, there's a good boy."

She beckoned him over, and he went to her. It was as if she'd attached a string to his navel and was just patiently tugging him in whatever direction her will fancied. He knelt beside her, so close he could feel her breath fanning across what would have been his cheek but was now his muzzle. She raised her hand and stroked his ears, something that no one had ever done to him before.

It was unbelievably lovely. He craned his head to get as close to her as possible, and she laughed in that throaty way of hers. It sounded like a man, like so many other parts of her that were irrevocably masculine. It was one of the sexiest things about her.

She scratched the tender place behind his ears with her fingernails, and he whined, pushing his face into her stomach.

"Oh, you're a good doggie! Do you want to give me a ride back home? I don't think I can walk, and it's cold."

How could he say no? He stood and waited for her to clamber onto his back. She lay across his back side-saddle, her face pressed to the base of his broad neck.

"Okay, I'm ready."

He moved slowly, not wanting to dislodge her. This was not what he thought was going to happen when he set out to patrol at dusk.

When they reached her house, she rolled off of him and came around to kiss him on the snout. He wanted to blush, but couldn't. She kissed his furred face several times, calling him Snuffles and telling him how much she'd missed him. He was too dazzled to mind that she thought he was someone else. Finally, much to his chagrin, she stopped and said,

"Come inside, Snuffles. You've just as much right as me, you silly thing."

She sank down on the couch and patted the seat beside her. He clambered onto the sofa, relishing how different it felt to do this as a canine. Her hands returned to his fur, smoothing the fur on his back this time. He was dimly aware, through the pleasured haze of being stroked, that she was mumbling in a gloomy voice to herself. He could catch snippets about her age, and wanted to laugh. 23 is hardly a good age to start worrying about being old.

"You know, I wanted to do something really worthwhile when I was little. I wanted to go to University and do something respectable with a salary. And now look where I am. I'm all alone now, you know. Well, you're here, but you're not real. You're dead. You died a long time ago, when I was too young to know why."

He wanted to frown, but couldn't with his current facial muscles. A growl rumbled out of his throat, and she lightly gripped his fur and said, "None of that. The past is the past."

Unable to do anything else, he buried his face in her lap. She didn't say anything else, and the pace of her stroking gradually slowed down until she was asleep again. He stayed for several hours after, just listening to her breathe as she slept.

He left quietly at around four in the morning.

000

Martin came into his office and leaned against his desk like he owned it, smirking.

"How are you feeling this morning? A little hung-over, perhaps?"

She tartly responded with, "I wish people weren't so set on being themselves when being themselves means being a bastard."

He just laughed and handed her a small bottle of Aspirin and a cup of coffee, "Don't be nasty, dear friend of mine."

"Fuck you," Harry muttered, unscrewing the aspirin. He was still bothered by the half-remembered dream of Sirius he'd had last night. He'd been in his Animagus form, and found him in the woods. He rode on his back.

He frowned. It was a very strange dream.

000

End chapter 29

Sorry it's a little short tonight, but hey, it's an update and it has Jacob in it!


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Holy crap! It's ch.30 already! The amount of reviews this story has still blows me away. Let's see if we can get to 700 before ch.35.

Chapter Thirty

It was nearly wintertime and the first few flurries dusted down in the afternoon or the morning, or just generally whenever Harry was walking around outdoors. He could only assume that this was nature spitting on him yet again, or perhaps trying to show him that life was still beautiful. Both options were equally likely. Nature was a very fickle woman. Not the sort that you could take home and introduce to your parents, either. His bruises were finally gone now, and his ribs barely gave him any trouble when he bent that certain way.

He felt almost happy as he walked to work one Monday. The wind was in his face, so he had to walk with his head bowed and wear a wooly hat so that his wig wouldn't blow away in the wind, but he was happy all the same. Because of the cold, the bears were gone now, asleep for the cold season in their caves. This still left the Vampires, but just knowing that the woods he loved so much were safer for him made him happy. The trees looked beautiful in their bare glory. Without their distracting leaves, he could see that their bark was purple, or green, or even orange. The color seemed to hover just over the surface of the bark, making it hard to spot if you came too close.

Some bramble bushes had bright blue branches and brighter red berries. He collected them and brought them home to cheer the fairies. As soon as the first flurries started to arrive, he would wake up and find them clustered inside his house around the radiators, which weren't very good. He was having a repairman over today to look at them, and ordered the fairies to hide when the man arrived.

He was grateful when he could step inside the warmth of the school, even though he knew that was an illusion. It really wasn't very warm inside; the school didn't have a big enough budget to keep the heaters going all day. They were on for an hour in the morning, then an hour at lunch, and once mid-afternoon. And then that was it, and you had to hope that nobody left a window open by accident.

Martin nodded to him in the staff room, and he smiled at him while getting some coffee. Neither of them spoke to the other, not finding it necessary.

They went to their respective classrooms.

Harry could actually handle being around Jacob now. His feelings hadn't changed, but resignation made them much easier to ignore. And the trick was to not actually look at him when he was looking at him. He would look slightly over his shoulder and unfocus his eyes. It made everything so much easier when he did that. His chest didn't hurt, and he wouldn't spend the rest of the day mooning.

But today he forgot to unfocus his eyes. Old habit drove him to make direct eye contact, and he flinched a little at the intensity of Jacob's emotions. There was so much just there, right on the surface of his eyes, that it was overwhelming. He gently gripped the front of his desk to steady his balance, and repeated his question when he realized that Jacob hadn't answered.

Jacob got the answer right, and Harry moved onto the rest of the class as if everything was normal. But it wasn't. his nerves felt feverish, like he'd come too close to boiling water, and his eyes kept trying to dart back over to Jacob for the remainder of the class. When the bell rang, he assigned homework and sat down heavily, picking up his pen and taking some notes.

A shadow fell over his desk. He looked up and found Jacob standing there.

He looked like he was just as tortured to be standing there as Harry felt by looking at him. Neither of them said anything for several eternity-long seconds, just looking at one another.

Then Jacob leaned down and very quietly said, "This isn't working. I can't think when I'm in here with you. Did you know that I need a tutor now to maintain my grades?"

Harry swallowed. Well. This was an unforeseen problem. He opened his mouth, but a croak was all that came out. Jacob was entirely too close, leaning down so that their eyes were even.

"I'm sorry…" was all that he could make himself say after several more tries. Jacob closed his eyes.

"Me too. I shouldn't have told you that. I don't know what came over me. Sorry."

He straightened and started for the door. Before he could reach it, he stopped and turned around again, "You shouldn't go out in the woods alone so much. Or, if you do, please don't do it drunk. I don't want to worry about you."

Harry's mind snapped back to the last couple of times he'd walked the woods, and the shivery sensation of being watched.

"Are you following me?" he asked, not knowing how to feel about this. On the one hand, it was a dangerous sign of how far Jacob's feelings had progressed, and on the other it meant that he needed to walk like a lady in the woods instead of his usual masculine stride. Damn it, this was _so_ unfair! At this rate he wouldn't be able to, metaphorically, let his hair down anywhere. Perhaps not even in the dubious privacy of his cottage, wards or no wards.

"No! I mean, only a little bit. Just once or twice, when I ran across you," he looked sheepish, but then defensively added, "I didn't want you to get hurt, you know. It's stupid to go walking in the woods unprotected, by yourself, at night!"

Harry drew himself up out of his slouch, "You have no right to call anything I do stupid! I will do whatever the fuck I want, and I can take care of myself!"

"Oh really? Even when you're too drunk to notice a bear sitting next to you? Even when I have to carry you home?!" Jacob snapped back. Harry knew that he was supposed to be defensive and angry right now, but the low grumble behind those words were enough to make him happy that he was sitting down with the desk between them.

"What do you mean a bear was sitting next to me?"

Jacob looked stricken, "Nothing. I'm sorry. Like I said, I don't feel myself right now. I think I'll go see the nurse."

"Yes, you do that," Harry responded distractedly. Carried home?

And then he remembered the funny too-real dream he'd had about Sirius, as Snuffles, giving him a ride home. No way. There was just no way. Jacob was a Muggle. Bronwyn said that there were no magical people here anymore, only that it used to be a haven for magical creatures…

Magical creatures.

Come to think of it, there was something remarkably animal about the way certain members of the tribe carried themselves. But no…Leah moved that way, and he was sure that she was completely human. Or was she? What did he really know about her? He was an outsider after all. For all he knew, she could've been elected to befriend him and keep him from finding out about their secret. What secret, though? Could this tribe of Indians really be hiding something as powerful as Animagi?

He would have to fire-call Hermione and tell her about his theories. But first he was going to go visit Leah, and watch her _very carefully._

000

Jacob ran for the doors. He made it to the woods before hurriedly stripping and bursting out of his human shape. How could he be so stupid? Now she thought he was some kind of stalker! Losing control like that was unacceptable.

And then he got into a fight with her. What was that all about? He didn't think he could've stopped no matter what, though. As soon as she made eye contact with him again, the first time in what felt like years, his hormones started an acid party and didn't bother to ask his permission first. He still felt like his blood was pounding as hard as it could through his heart and through his veins and back again. His temples throbbed, and his ears swiveled as he smelled the air. He needed to kill something just to calm down.

This was out of hand. He knew for sure that he hadn't imprinted, because he'd examined his pack-mates memories of the incident, but it sure as hell felt like he had.

Come to think of it, why hadn't he imprinted on her? What was wrong with her that his wolf couldn't see him being her mate for forever? He scented a deer and went after it, thoughts racing in time to his heavy paws, as large as dinner plates, slammed the ground. Maybe he just didn't understand her enough, or maybe he wasn't ready. Yeah, that was probably it. His birthday was in two months, so maybe when he was eighteen things would be different.

Yes. They would be. He knew this as surely as he knew that the blood of the deer was hot when it spurted across his nose. The animal's neck cracked, killing it and taking away its pain.

By the time he went to his next class, having missed one, he felt sated and calm again. It was amazing what an extra meal could do for you.

000

Harry hid in his office long after he finished his paperwork, just in case Jacob decided to linger. Martin came in and told him about a woman he'd met online who he was having a date with that evening, and Harry gave him some pointers. But then he was alone with a book and the sound of the ticking clock. It was dark outside when he left, and he started to run in the falling snow. He didn't want to miss Leah. She closed the shop earlier these days.

He skidded and fell as he rounded a corner. Someone offered him a hand and he took it, smiling gratefully. It was the man he saw Jacob with sometimes, and that one time a long time ago in the bar.

"Thanks. I guess it's a bit slicker than I expected," he knew he was blushing, and wished that he wouldn't. He wasn't a little boy anymore and didn't need to blush when he did something bloody embarrassing. The man smiled back and laughed a little.

"It's okay. Be careful."

"I will," Harry smiled tightly and made to go around, but a hand was offered in a different way this time.

"I'm Sam. You're that new teacher down at the high school, right?"

Harry took it and gave it a few firm shakes, "Velma, and you are absolutely correct, though I don't know if the 'new' part applies anymore."

Sam snorted, "No, I guess not. Well, anyway, it's nice meeting you. I'm a friend of Leah's, and thought it was about time I did this officially. But, hey, don't let me keep you."

Harry waved goodbye and went on to Leah's shop, walking this time. He was bemused. Sam was one of the animalistic Indians, with a queer gracefulness. Not to mention that he was positive that there was something just slightly savage behind his eyes, a look he recalled strongly in Jacob. Jacob had lovely eyes.

He slapped himself and stepped inside Leah's shop, which was still open.

She was laughing, clearly having witnessed his moment of self-abuse. He found himself blushing again. Today was apparently a day to blush.

"Oh my god, you look like a crazy person! Why the fuck did you just slap yourself?"

He shrugged, "I thought it would help the blood move faster. It's, you know, _cold _outside now."

She shrugged, drawing attention to her tank top. It was thin and didn't completely cover her navel, and he was pretty sure that she was wearing shorts. His eyebrows soared.

"Um, apparently you are impervious to the cold. Didn't anyway give you the memo? It's November now, Leah. It's time to break out the wooly sweaters and hideous snow boots."

Laughing, she poured him a cup of black coffee, "Don't be ridiculous. It's only 30 degrees! When it hits 0, I'll think about wearing a coat."

Harry gaped at her, "Did you inhale too much flour today?"

She giggled and handed him his coffee, which he gulped down even though it was hot enough to boil his fingers through the flimsy cup. When he was finished, she'd composed herself. She took the now-empty cup from him and tossed in the trash.

"To answer your very rude question, no, I haven't inhaled too much flour," she thought fast, "certain genetic pools within my nationality have an increased tolerance to extreme weather conditions. You could say that we evolved this way so that we could survive the cold winters here before the word 'thermal' was invented. And that is why I can stand here in shorts and a tank and feel perfectly comfortable."

Harry shook his head, "That's just amazing. I wish I had your genetics, especially growing up in the U.K. I went to boarding school in Scotland, and damn could it get cold there in the winter."

She winced, "Oh, poor little tender Velma. Were your bitty little fingers blue in the winter?"

He playfully smacked her arm, "Hey, no need to be nasty."

Internally, he was calculating her hardiness to the elements with Remus'. When he was close to a transformation, he could stand intense heat and cold easier. Painfully, he remembered Sirius telling him that by phasing in and out of his Animagus form he was able to put up with the cold of Azkaban easier, as well as keep the Dementors away.

No genetic code would allow someone to stand something like this, no matter how little was known about a nationality. She probably assumed that he would be dazzled by the word 'genetics' like most people and take the false facts she uttered at face value. But he wasn't dazzled. Growing up a Wizard tends to give one a stronger resistance to the beguiling lies of science.

"Hey, um, I'm going to go for a walk on the beach tonight. Do you want to come?"

She shook her head, "Sorry babe, but I've got this thing I have to do tonight. A prior engagement, you could say."

"That's too bad. If you change your mind or get done early, I'll probably be by the cliffs until about ten."

"Okay. I'm going to close up shop now, so you should scram," she prodded him in the arm, shoving him towards the door, "I definitely won't make it to the cliffs, so don't wait for me or anything. This thing will keep me until maybe three in the morning."

"Oh really? It's not a date, is it?"

"I cannot believe you just said that!" she shrieked, flinging a scone at him. He caught it and waved goodbye to her with it.

"Thanks for the freebie!"

"Bitch!"

Outside in the chill, he shoved one hand in his pocket and ate the scone with the other. There was definitely something going on. On his way home, he passed by a young man in shorts and a wife beater.

Yes. There was definitely something going on, and it involved animals somehow. And, now that he knew he would be undisturbed, he could go out as Harry tonight. It would be nice to wear a pair of trousers again.

000

It was colder now that all traces of the sun were gone, but it wasn't raining or snowing or hailing or any of the other various things that the sky likes to drop onto our heads. Jacob wasn't technically on patrol duty, but after an hour of sitting in his room once he'd finished his chores and homework trying not to think about Velma, the pressure got to him.

He'd gone a lot farther than he normally did. He was close to the cliffs, in fact, which wasn't even a patrol area. It was so far past the border that they just assumed that they would catch the Vampires before they could get that far.

Tonight, though, there was someone on the cliffs.

He softened his footsteps, glad that he hadn't transformed yet.

Before he could even make out their features, the figure turned and looked directly at him. It was a man, with short dark hair. He was wearing very second-hand clothes and glasses. He was also smoking.

He waved, "Hey there. Don't mind me- I was just leaving."

The stranger had an accent of some kind. He tried not to let this distract him as he replied, "Oh, uh, you don't have to go. I was just coming up here to feel the wind," it wasn't a lie, and he'd feel bad if he scared some guy off who was obviously there first. The area needed tourists, and he wasn't going to be responsible for the loss of a single one.

"Okay," the guy shrugged and took another drag of his cigarette, flicking some ash into the wind.

Jacob sat on a boulder, and leaned over to put his hands on his knees. The wind carried a lot of different smells, and he just sat there enjoying it for a few minutes until he caught something vaguely familiar. He strained his nostrils, trying to pick up what it was, and thought he smelled something similar to Velma. But Velma always had the smell of lavender underneath her perfume, so she couldn't be around because that wasn't there as well. This was confusing, and his inner dog wasn't happy. It was Velma, but not Velma.

The guy came over and sat on the other end of the boulder. The light wasn't very good, but he could see him smiling politely at him.

"So, uh, do you come here often?"

Jacob squinted, trying to get a good look at him. His accent was definitely British. "Not really, no. I used to hang out here when I was little, but I haven't had a lot of free time lately. I usually end up actually on the beach instead of up here these days."

The stranger grunted and lit another cigarette.

He shifted around a little, working up his nerve, and then asked, "Hey, uh, this is kind of an awkward question, but do you know Velma Hall?"

The man shook his head, "Nope. Why? Does she come here a lot? This is my first time up here. I happened on it by accident- I was just walking around the woods and found it."

"Oh. And I don't know if she comes here. She's a teacher at my school, and you guys have the same accent, so…"

"Really? I'm from Scotland, though people get me confused with Irish all the time. What is it with Americans and assuming that you're Irish? Do you know, I've got a friend from Australia who gets asked if he's Irish _all the bloody time _when he comes here."

Jacob laughed, "Seriously? That has to suck. So, are you on vacation or staying with somebody or…?"

"Nothing fancy, lad. I'm just here on a little camping trip. You could say that I'm a drifter. I've got a tent pitched in the woods, in a wee cave that the bears couldn't cram into," the lie rolled easily off of Harry's tongue, and he thanked god for those years of getting caught wandering the Castle at night by Snape. If you could lie to Snape, you could lie to anyone.

Hearing the way this man lived made Jacob desperately want to do the same. Being human was getting too complicated to bear, especially with the trouble with Velma. Living in a tent in the woods, able to turn into a wolf anytime he liked…it sounded like paradise. Everything was so much simpler when he was a wolf, though it could get tricky when the Pack was there. Controlling your libido is always hard, but it's harder when people can read your mind.

He hadn't told anyone about his slackening desire to be human. It would only upset them.

The man reached over and offered his hand, "I'm Harry and it's nice to meet you…?"

"Jacob Black."

They were closer now, and he could see that he wasn't bad looking. A little shorter than most men, but Jacob was a little taller than most men and was in no position to discriminate. The plaid shirt he was wearing under his leather jacket clung where the wind pressed against him, hinting at muscles beneath it.

He looked away, unhappy with himself to be ogling a strange man's chest.

"There's a bar ten minutes walk away. What do you say we get out of this cold and have a proper chat? I'll buy you a beer," Harry offered, tilting his head invitingly. Jacob couldn't say no.

000

End chapter 30

Aaaaand they've met! The plot can only get better from now on.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: This is important. I AM GOING OUT OF TOWN. I won't be back until late Sunday, which means no updates for sure until then. Sorry guys.

Chapter Thirty-One

The bar they settled into was little more than a hole in the wall, exactly the type of place that didn't care about carding people no matter who they were as long as they paid. This was just as well for Harry as for Jacob, because the only valid I.D. he had was Velma's. And that wouldn't go over so well.

A sense of déjà vu started to pour through him when he opened his mouth to order a pitcher. He closed his mouth and ordered a pair of drafts, choosing a random ale. Ale was light, right?

Jacob made to sit at the bar but the bartender shook his head, shifted the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, and jerked his head to the back.

"If the cops come I don't want you in plain sight, idiot," he explained around the toothpick, rag working furiously as he scrubbed the glass in his hand. Harry nodded to him and used this as an excuse to take Jake's wrist and guide him to the very back of the establishment. There was no pool table here, only a unisex bathroom and a padlocked door. He could dimly hear laughter and cursing from the other side. It was probably a private gambling area, judging from the double-barreled shotgun he'd spied within easy reach behind the bar.

He gulped his beer. Jacob was staring at hi until then, but he jerked and took an exploratory sip of his beer after seeing Harry drink.

Harry felt like he just drank an entire pot of coffee in one sitting. Somehow, being _himself _with Jacob instead of a persona made him feel like he could take liberties. He'd already touched him, even if it was just on the wrist, and had freely chatted with him on their way from the cliffs to the bar. Sure, his voice was husky and more of a hoarse whisper than a proper volume, but his vocal chords could only take so much of the strain from speaking in Velma's falsetto. Jacob hadn't commented on anything other than his accent, so it couldn't sound too strange.

Meanwhile, Jacob's insides were flopping excitedly around. There was something about Harry, something magnetic that made his heart sing and his eyeballs fizzle. He didn't know what he was feeling, but it felt damn good and he didn't want it to stop. It was everything that he felt when he was with Velma distilled to a fever pitch instead of slowed to a heartbeat-throb like it was when he was with her.

Harry was life itself, though he couldn't explain why. He watched him as much as he dared. Irresistibly staring at a guy was w new experience for him. He didn't want it to ever end.

The beer was like chilled honey and liquid bread, and the carbonation made him clench his chest to hold back a belch. It was good, really good.

"You, uh, you have good taste in beer. All the other stuff I've had tasted like watered-down piss."

Harry snorted, "Ha! I know exactly what you mean. I swear to god, the beer companies in this country are getting away with murder. Do you know, there are so many chemicals in your average American beer that it can't even form a natural head? They have to add extra chemicals to make it do that."

Jacob gaped, "No way! Why did they add so many?"

Harry shrugged, "Blowed if I know. It might be easier than actually putting the effort in making something drinkable," he took another drink, then said, "but hey, let's not get me started on cultural differences, eh? Why don't you tell me about yourself. I feel like I've been dominating the conversation."

He smiled and hid behind his beer for a half-second, reveling in the cool sliding sensation, "Well…my life isn't nearly as interesting as yours seems to be. I don't live in a tent. I live with my dad on our Reservation, and I work in our auto-shop. I want to leave, to do something else because I don't like fixing other people's cars all the time, but I can't do that to my dad. He wants me to go to college, and though he hasn't said it out loud, I know he wants me to stick around."

The music was just the right volume to set him at ease, and Harry looked so understanding. He wanted to tell him everything, like they'd been friends forever and he knew that whatever he said would be forgiven…

"Why can't you leave? If your dad loves you, he'll understand. There's that whole 'if you love someone, you'll set them free' saying and everything. You're a young man full of life. You should be out there living, not standing around with your prick in your hand."

The temptation was too strong. Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was Harry's eyes gleaming in the dim lights. He was going to keep talking, damn morning-after regrets.

"My dad is crippled, and I lost my mom when I was a kid, so there is nobody else to take care of the shop and my dad if I run off. I have two sisters, but honestly I don't think they would be able to handle the pressure of supporting my dad's more physical problems. For example, I have to help him shower, which doesn't bother me or anything, but I know it would get to them. At the same time, I really, really, really want to get out of here. It's like being dragged in two different directions. Don't get me wrong. I love Washington, and especially the forests and all the water, but I want to live somewhere warmer than here with more sunlight. I love sunlight, and I'm sick of there being so little of it here."

"So…basically, you feel like the rope in a game of tug-o-war?" Harry clarified hesitantly, drawing designs in the condensation on his glass.

"Yeah, that's a good way of putting it. The thing is I'll probably just end up living my whole life here no matter what I want. I've grown up as part of a tribe, and I don't know if living outside of it will be everything I think it will, you know?"

Harry nodded, "I understand. Maybe you could compromise, and buy some sun lamps?"

Jake snorted and shook his head at him, shaking with silent laughter. He wanted to laugh right now, and it felt good to do so. All the drama of trying to deal with Velma was washing away in a yellow-gold beer wave.

"God, who says something like that?"

Harry shuffled over to the corner of the booth and wedged himself into the two walls, "Eh, I dunno. I never really thought about it. Anyway, I'm sorry you feel all that pressure right now. Just remember that, no matter how hard it can be to think straight now, all the decisions you make now will decide where you'll be when you're forty and over-weight and wondering what the fuck happened."

Jacob blinked, taken aback by the bitterness in his whispery voice. There were some guttural notes in there that touched his instincts, alerting him to hidden pain. Being a shape-shifter gave him more than good animal instincts.

"What do you mean? You're not that old."

"I feel much older. I've had what you could call a 'full life', with more plot twists than a body can bear. I'm writing a disguised auto-biography about it, actually. It's therapeutic to get it all out of me head and onto the paper," he shook his head, "But, man, you wouldn't believe how crazy some stuff seems when you can see it written out neat."

"Wow. What do you do for work?"

Harry opened his mouth, hesitated, and said, "I guess I'm a specialist. My field is people, specifically tracking them and making sure that they get what they deserve."

Jacob processed this, "Um…are you some kind of assassin?"

Harry roared with laughter and, fighting for composure, replied, "Sort of. I'd just never think of it like that."

Despite his sensible side elbowing his brain and insisting that this Harry was obviously not a safe stranger to be hanging around with in the process of getting drunk, he was intrigued. Wild horses couldn't drag Jacob away from Harry now.

They ordered more drinks, this time basic Guinness, and Harry changed the subject back to Jacob. He insisted that they take turns talking about themselves to keep from getting bogged down into a pity party.

Jacob talked about Bella, relieved to get it in the open. He didn't notice how tight his chest was before he opened his mouth and laid out the whole ugly story, minus the part about the Vampires. Afterwards, while Harry was telling him that Bella totally used him, he absently touched his chest above his heart and tried to understand why he felt so light.

Emotional baggage is heavier than you'd think.

Harry told him about Ginny. With a pang he remembered that Velma loved someone named Ginny and briefly entertained the absurd notion that it was the same Ginny before coming to his senses. He couldn't assume that just because Velma and Harry were from the same general area meant that they automatically knew the same people. That would be retarded.

Unfortunately, brushing aside ridiculous notions gave him more time to stare at Harry and wonder when he started considering men beautiful. Harry wasn't beautiful in the same way that Velma was, no matter how masculine she could look. There was something so _honest _about Harry, whereas Velma always looked like she was holding something back.

He guiltily stopped comparing the two when he noticed that Harry had stopped talking and was watching him with amusement.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," he automatically answered.

Harry smirked, something sly slipping into his features for the first time that night, "I think that there is something that you aren't telling me, Jake. Come on, tell me a secret. I'll tell you one of mine if you like," he wheedled.

Jacob tried to think rationally, but Harry was leaning forward in his seat, his lustrous eyes gleaming, and complicity coming out of him like heat out of a stove. His lips moved on their own, "I…I could get into a lot of trouble for telling you this."

A warm hand settled onto his forearm and gave it a little squeeze, "Hey, you can trust me. Who am I gonna tell?"

He had a point. A man living in a tent in the woods wasn't exactly a credible source for the press, or witness in court. He ploughed on. He wanted more of the light feeling that he got from being open about the Bella fiasco, "I'm not…, I don't know how to say this, but I guess you could say that I'm not entirely human. Because of my ancestry, I have access to the form of our ancestors."

Instead of freaking out or looking at him like he was crazy, Harry just nodded, "I believe you. I've heard so much crazy shit in my life that I'll believe anything. Just one question, what is the form of your ancestors?"

"This is going to sound really lame, but… that of a wolf."

Harry tilted his head and squinted at him. Then he reached up and gripped his chin, turning his head from side to side in the dim lighting. Confused but giddy with relief, Jacob let himself be examined. He kind of liked having Harry touch him like this…

No. That was weird.

There was a speculative look in his eyes, "You know what, I can kind of see it. It's in the shape of your cheeks, and your eyebrows make your eyes look just a teeny bit feral."

He felt flattered despite himself, "Really? Scary rabid feral or cool feral?"

Harry grinned, "Cool, definitely. And I wouldn't worry about other people guessing your secret, by the way. It's just one of those freakish things that are sometimes found in people who are otherwise utterly normal," he paused and took a sip of beer before asking, "So…what do you want to know about me?"

"Uh…"

He didn't know what to ask! He was filled with curiosity about Harry, but he wasn't sure what he could ask and not make him angry. And he didn't want to ask anything too personal, because beer or no beer, that could get awkward. Harry stuck out his tongue for a second and said,

"You only get ten more seconds to think of a question. Tick-tock…tick-tock…"

"Do you have any scars?" he burst out, not able to think of anything else. Why did he care if Harry had scars or not? But then, if he was some kind of 'specialist' (i.e. an assassin) he probably had some bad-ass battle scars.

The smirk was gone, replaced with a smile, "Sure, I've got loads. There's the one on my forehead for starters, but that one isn't very interesting."

They were quiet for a second except for the slurping sound as Harry finished his second beer. He wiped the froth off his upper lip with his sleeve and said, "Tell you what, how about we go back to the cliffs and have a swim? That way you can actually see my scars, and I can have a piss whenever I like."

Jacob tried to look shocked at the idea of someone pissing in the water, but he'd been doing it since he was little, so he wasn't going to call the kettle black. Besides, a swim sounded heavily. What was it about beer and making the prospect of a star-lit swim utterly feasible and somehow appropriate to do with sort-of strangers?

The bar didn't notice as they left, and Harry staggered on the sidewalk outside for a second before grabbing Jacob to steady himself.

"Whoops," he muttered cheerfully, and then set off at a run for the direction of the water. Jacob shouted and followed. Despite his enhanced speed, it took him a while to catch up. Harry was _fast!_

They slowed down after a few minutes and just walked. Harry bumped Jacob's shoulder with his, and got a shove back.

Needless to say, this and similar games left them both feeling a little bruised by the time they got back to the cliffs. Harry immediately reached for his shirt buttons and got to work.

Jacob hesitated a moment, thinking back on their meeting. How did they go from accidentally meeting here to skinny dipping together? He shrugged it off and hurried to strip. He had a nasty feeling that Harry was the type of person who splashed fully dressed people who hung out around pools, just to get them wet.

He risked a peek at Harry.

Clothed, Harry looked a little like a shabby bum. Naked, however, he disturbingly resembled Blake's rendering of Satan. Not at all the sort of person you would want to get into a fight with.

And then he saw the scars. It was like a madman's attempt at drawing a spider web, only the canvass was human skin.

"Oh…" he didn't realize he'd made any sound until Harry looked up from a cool rock he'd found and raised an eyebrow.

"Are my scars impressive enough?"

Jacob nodded, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. And then Harry bolted for the edge of the cliff and dove off.

Jacob felt déjà-vu as he watched Harry disappear over the edge.

000

End chapter 31

Remember that I am going out of town, people. If you're confused, scroll to the top and read the handy-dandy A/N.


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: I am finally home at last! I have only one, possibly two, more debate tournaments EVER, so these little disappearances will soon be a thing of the past. I once again exceeded my personal expectations, and kicked ass until the competition was bloody!

Forgive my arrogance.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Little rocks dug into his soles, and the scrubby grass prickled between his toes. He stood at the cliff edge, knowing full well that Harry was down there, waiting for him. He knew that he should jump, and soon. His nerves were jangling, though, and he felt crazed. The beer was still singing through his veins, beating down his common sense and cavorting with his animal side, which really was no help at all right now.

Could he do this? Somehow, this jump felt like so much more than just a jump. Diving into the water would mean more than simply diving into water. But what was it? Was he diving into freedom, or into something new that would hurt him just like Bella did?

A cold gust of wind made up his mind for him. It shimmied up his calves and his spine, shocking him into taking a step forward. He dropped over the edge, plummeting for the water. He remembered to shape his body into an arrow so that he'd break the water with the minimum of pain, and opened his mouth in a yell of exhilaration. No matter what this dive meant, it felt damned good.

The water cut through him like a million little knives, and the voice of sanity briefly made an appearance, chiding him for not remembering how strong the undertow was at night. He called out for Harry, and nearly cried when he heard him call back.

A wave crashed against his shoulders, and he heard Harry laugh. He was close by, so he swam a few feet towards him, and then paused to tread water.

"This is incredible! I have to say this is the best thing I have ever done drunk," Harry enthused, husky voice slurring and half-drowned in the sounds of the water. The water was like an angry beast, swirling around them and over them and beneath them. Jacob felt absolutely alive with it surrounding him this way. The cold wind blowing mist into their faces only enhanced the water's power.

A half-thought began to whisper beneath his mind's normal brain paths. It was born out of desires he didn't know he had and the moonlight. It stole up on him like a thief, and then burst out upon him. He wanted to kiss Harry.

He recoiled, scared and confused. Why did he want to do that? It wasn't something that he would ever think of on his own.

But he couldn't. Harry was the first person that made him feel like himself, like a human being but more than that. He couldn't ruin that now. Maybe later, if he read some sign of reciprocation…

Any way he looked at it, things were ruined somehow. It wasn't like when he heard that Bella was dating Edward. He just felt sad and tired of his hormones making decisions without him. And gay decisions, at that.

He would need to think about the gay part later, when he wasn't quite so drunk.

Harry dipped under the waves and resurfaced with his hair plastered to his face, oblivious to the struggle going on inside Jacob. He was just happy to be spending time with Jacob and as himself for the first time. Jacob was frowning, the corners of his mouth tight and slightly downward in their angle. He splashed a little water in his face and asked,

"What's wrong, sour-patch?"

"Nothing!"

Harry snorted and decided to let it go. Jacob had the classic 'please don't ask' look on his face, and he wasn't going to push him too far. They were already naked and drunk- things were going to be enough awkward come morning without him asking personal questions.

His legs were beginning to tire of fighting the undertow, so he communicated that to Jacob and they swam for the shallows closer to the shore. Instead of leaving the water completely, they merely evaded the undertow and lolled around in the water. As they rolled with the waves, Harry began to think.

And then he realized that their clothes were still at the top of the cliffs.

"Oh, fuck!"

They clambered all the way back up to the cliffs, bleeding from rocks and muddy by the time they reached the top. Their clothes were where they left them, in a crumpled heap. Harry groaned when he discovered that some friendly woodland animal had used his trousers as a toilet, and Jacob laughed at him until he found that his shirt had been similarly victimized.

Looking at each other, they burst out laughing.

Harry sat there in his briefs, and Jacob tried to talk him into accepting his trousers to wear. He wore boxers, and they were brown, so they could be mistaken for shorts if someone saw him. Harry's briefs didn't have the same disguise option. Harry refused, saying that Jacob needed them more than he did.

Exhausted, they walked down the road together until they reached the fork that led into the reservation. Jacob stopped, reluctant and sad. He didn't want the night to end. There was something about being with Harry, his own confused feelings aside, that was so relaxing.

"Well, bye, I guess," Harry said, rubbing the back of his head and avoiding eye contact.

"Bye…" Jacob whispered, and then burst out, "Will I ever see you again, or will this be it?"

Harry looked taken aback, "Uh, I don't know. I'm not sure how long I'll be around. But, I mean, if I come into town or something I'll look for the auto shop."

"Okay," his chest felt tight, and it was hard to speak.

"You're a really special person, Jacob, and there is a lot more out there for you then you think. You have a lot of potential, and I don't want you to let anybody else crush your spirit. Fight back as hard as you can," he reached out and squeezed his shoulder, "promise me you won't let anybody make you forget who you are. You might be different, but you are a wonderful person anyway."

"I won't. I've known that I was a little different for so long, I knew it before I realized I was different from little girls. I just…I forget."

Harry kneaded his shoulder, "Don't forget."

And then he turned and disappeared into the woods. Jacob stood there, alone with the stars and the moss beneath his bare feet, for what felt like forever. The forest swayed around him, seeming more alive now that he knew someone like Harry lived in it.

He felt good. Unbelievably good.

000

His head felt horrible the next day, but his heart was light. He barely noticed school, and proceeded straight to the woods to meet up with the pack after classes ended. He stripped, not noticing the funny way his pack mates were looking at him.

It wasn't until he was in his wolf body, comfortably flexing his neck, that he felt Sam touch his mind and ask him why he looked so strange.

The question trailed off as he remembered the conversation with Harry, consequently revealing it to his pack mates. He tried to cover it too late with other thoughts, and accidentally started thinking about his feelings for Velma.

This was not working out.

Sam transformed back into a human and gave him a lecture about the wolf secrets and never seeing this Harry man again, finishing with,

"And your feelings for Miss Hall are inappropriate because of her position in your life and the age difference."

Jacob shrugged a shaggy shoulder and thought about the futility of handling his feelings when they didn't change even though he knew she was a lesbian. Leah sidled over to stand beside him and butted his shoulder with her snout. He butted her back affectionately, appreciating her support. Sam transformed back and they went out to do their usual rounds. The matter was left alone, thought the other wolves looked at him differently now.

The next day he went to school, expecting a normal day with the exception of English class.

Velma's eyes lingered on him all day in class, sending his thoughts careening as far from school as they could go. He didn't know why she was looking at him instead of ignoring him. He liked it, though. It made him feel all fluttery, like a girl, which was annoying, but he liked it all the same. He looked back every time her eyes landed on him, and tried not to read too much into it.

Not once did it occur to him that her eyes were the same as Harry's, deep and wide and so understanding it almost hurt.

000

End chapter 32


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: I want to say something here…but I really have nothing to say. Shit.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Appropriately, Bob Dylan's 'I Want You' was playing on the radio in the shop just as Jacob entered it, mind swimming with confused memories of Velma and Harry. He scowled and went over to sit on the bench, where his dad usually left the list of the day's projects. The list was the same length as always, but it felt a lot longer a few hours later. His muscles were tired from patrolling and his stomach was growling, upset about being deprived of its preferred 7th meal at that time.

He ignored his stomach and continued tightening the bolt on the tire he was working on.

There was a light knock on the doorframe. Wiping the sweat off his forehead with his arm, he turned and jerked upright when he saw Bella standing there.

"Bella! I…this is…unexpected."

She didn't respond. The radio seemed painfully loud in the silence, and he clenched his hand around his wrench self-consciously. It was slick with grease and his sweat, and slithered out of his hand to fall heavily onto the carpet patch he was standing on. They got the carpet patches a long time ago at a warehouse that was practically giving them away. His friends used to use them to hide their footsteps and sneak up on him, before he could smell them 50 feet away. Those days seemed a long time ago now, in a simpler time.

He couldn't think of anything else to say to her, and she wouldn't speak, just standing there with her head down, chin resting on her chest. So they stood there until finally he went back into a crouch and finished the bolts. He smelled her come nearer, and the roller chair squeaked as she sat in it.

Ignoring her for now, he went about his work, and managed to finish detailing the car he was working on before she spoke up.

"I'm getting married."

He paused, and then continued rubbing the car down with his rag, "That's nice. I'm assuming that I'm not invited."

"Don't be bitter, Jake!" she snapped. He stopped, and turned to give her a dirty look.

"Excuse me, but it wouldn't be uncalled for, considering everything you did to me. I have every right to say whatever I want to you, bitter or not!" he slammed his hand onto the hood of the car, denting it. He glared at it and flipped the hood up, pushing the metal back into place, "I mean, you knew that coming here would make my angry in the first place, and what you just told me would make it worse. Please leave, before I do something I'll regret."

She crossed her arms, "No, I'm not leaving. You can't come to the wedding itself, but I'm having a second reception afterwards with my friends that Edward doesn't get along with, _which includes you, _and he's having one with his Vampire friends that can't handle humans yet. I came here to invite you to the reception, but now I don't think I will."

He shrugged, dipping the rag into a bucket of water. He started scrubbing the car, paying particular attention to the wipers.

She sighed.

"Look, if you just say you're sorry, I'll forgive you and we can move on."

"Not a chance," he growled, "Why are you still here? I told you to leave. Leave! I don't want you here!"

"No, I'm not leaving until you apologize!"

He turned around, a snarl starting to twist his features. She'd gotten out of the chair, and they stood as close to nose-to-nose as they could get with their height difference. He opened his mouth to yell something back when he heard someone clear their throat.

"Am I interrupting something?"

It was Harry, looking glorious and as much like a knight on a white horse as one could get without a white horse. He smirked at Bella and stepped into the yellow-dim of the shop.

"I don't mean to intrude, but I think that you're agitating Jake here. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop."

She gritted her teeth, "I don't care who you are, and it's none of your business why I'm here! I'm busy trying to tell Jacob something."

Harry raised his eyebrows and came yet closer. Jacob could smell him. He smelled like dirt and soap and something like scrubbed-off perfume. There was also a hint of wine, vinegary but sweet, beneath it all. He smelled like heaven. "Let's pretend that you've already told him the happy news. Now kindly fuck off."

He dug into his pocket, produced a packet of cigarettes, and lit one. She stood there, watching him speechlessly as his cheeks hollowed. He expelled the smoke in her general direction, and she recoiled. The spell was broken, and she complained,

"You can't just come in here and tell me what to do! Jacob, tell him back off!"

Jacob shrugged, "I don't think I will. Harry is a friend of mine, and he actually _listens _to me. Now, get out."

She looked from Jacob to Harry, who presented her with a blank face, and spun on her heel. She slammed the door behind her, and Harry walked over and re-opened it, letting the air flow back in. the shop got unbearably stuffy when the door was kept shut, and Jacob wondered how Harry knew something like that.

Harry came back, walked past him, and settled into the chair Bella had recently occupied, tucking one leg up to his chest. He put his hands around it and rested his chin on his knee, peering at Jacob with a bemused look.

"Don't mind me. I'll just have a few smokes while you finish up."

"And then what?"

He took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke upwards, lips nearly pressed together, "I thought we could go for a drive, and get some food. Or maybe go for a walk. I don't really care. I just fancied some company."

Jacob felt the shadow thoughts, which he was labeling his Fag Alter-Ego until he could find the mental strength to sort through why he suddenly wanted to make out with guys, stir happily at that. He stashed them away and nodded, "That sounds good to me. I say we drive, then get food at McDonald's or something, and then go for a walk."

Harry grinned, "You don't believe in moderation, do you?"

"Not at all," Jacob grinned back, remembering something he read in a book when he was twelve and went through a mythology phase, "Apollo, glorious sun god that he was, once said that moderation in all things was essential, including moderation. This is a situation that calls for moderation in moderation-"

"-seeing as it will be our first time actually getting to hang out whilst not drunken fools?" Harry finished, entirely too smoothly.

Jacob laughed and went back to work. They didn't really talk other than to make observations about the rain or something Jacob was doing, and Harry didn't ask who Bella was or what they'd been fighting about. Jacob was grateful for this, because it meant that he could calm down. He couldn't believe that she had the nerve to come around here and shove her union with that bloodsucker in his face! She knew how he felt about the Cullens, and also that his attendance at her wedding or any other connected activities was impossible.

He bared his teeth and set about his other tasks with enthusiasm that would make his father proud. He got everything, down to the tiniest minutiae (such as finally oiling that squeaky hinge in the bathroom window) of tasks, completed in record time. Harry hadn't even reached the half-pack mark by the time he pulled off his greasy over shirt and stood breathlessly smiling in front of him.

Harry uncoiled himself from the chair and stiffly stretched out his legs, which he'd folded like a rope while he waited, "Oomph."

Jake led the way to the Rabbit, and climbed inside. Harry settled in beside him and put his boots up on the dashboard, rubbing the undersides of his knees. He wore combat boots. Jacob stared at them for several seconds while the engine warmed up, trying to remember where he'd seen them before.

He gave up.

Harry looked out the window. Through the glass, the mountains and the forest began to reveal themselves in the November sun, their shapes rounded and lazy, like a plump girl's.

They went to McDonald's and went through the drive-through. Harry tried not to show any sign of emotion when Jacob ordered five Big Macs and two large fries and then turned to ask him what _he _wanted.

Then they drove around, munching their food to the sound of the radio. Harry spotted a liquor store and laughingly suggested that they stop and get some, and to his surprise Jacob complied. He parked the rabbit and Harry told him to stay inside while he went alone, because Jacob would look too young and it would be _very suspicious._

Once inside, he pocketed the largest bottle of Smirnoff vodka that his lumberjack coat could hold and went to the front counter to purchase some cigarettes. The cigarettes didn't require him to provide an I.D., because he had yet to find someone who didn't take one look at him and decide that they really didn't need to see it, and masked his presence.

Jacob laughed when Harry showed him the vodka and mildly accused him of being a bad influence on him. They finished their food in the car and parked it in an abandoned lot for the night, stepping out and into the woods armed only with their jackets and the bottle of vodka against the cold. Not that Jacob needed the protection. He even wore his jacket open, if only to encourage Harry to send him dirty looks.

They passed the bottle back and forth, and somehow by the time they reached the last third of it running around and screaming about how happy they were to be alive became the best idea ever.

The trees, covered with ice and frost, aroused something mad in him and he tagged Jacob into a game of tag. They spun through the forest, dodging logs and slipping on ice puddles. The moss was soft over the hard-packed ground, and curled up in furrows when they skidded across it. Jacob banged his knee on a puddle when he slipped, and Harry fussed over him, fingers dancing around the bruise.

Jacob felt warmer than he ever had in his life. Their breath was a warm mingled cloud, and their cheeks matched in pinkness. Harry smiled, still kneeling beside him, and seemed to emit light from within,

It was beautiful, and when he counted his knee alright to stand on again, he started to run, caught up in the exhilaration of the cold air and the fluttering birds they startled.

They ran and danced and played in the frosty forest until it was long past any sane person's bedtime, and then they stayed out a little longer. Harry's throat was hoarse from yelling, and Jacob's was the same. They finally started to walk back to his car at about three in the morning, and Jacob's arm found its way around Harry's shoulders. Harry stumbled against him as he walked, one hand absently clutching the neck of the empty vodka bottle.

The car was cold, and Jacob seized Harry's hands and held them in his warm palms until the Rabbit's heating kicked in. Neither of them mentioned that, though Harry seemed reluctant to pull his hands away from his.

Jacob drove them home, with marginal difficulty keeping the Rabbit on their side of the road. It didn't help that, under the influence of the vodka, Harry forgot that you drove on the opposite side of the road in America than you did in England. He mumbled directions, and scolded Jacob about driving backwards.

When they got back to the Reservation, Harry clambered out of the truck and waved drunkenly goodbye to Jacob, trudging straight into the forest. Jacob watched him go and entertained the thought of following him, but chose not to.

000

That weekend, Leah proclaimed a Pack togetherness night at the beach. Nobody complained this time, used to the routine of roasting hotdogs and drinking beer by now. It was fun to be a Pack together while not actually doing anything useful, not that any of them were going to admit that to Leah's face. God knew she would never shut up if they did. There are some people whose egos need to be kept on a very short leash.

Harry went to the beach to think coincidentally on the same day that Jacob and his friends were there. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, with the hood down, and a new pair of sneakers he'd bought in La Push at the resale shop. Now that he went out at himself more often, he needed a bigger wardrobe lest he begin to get a reputation as That-Gross-Homeless-Guy-Always-Wearing-The-Same-Shirt.

He saw the Pack in the distance, thought about the risk, and decided to go over anyway, but this time as Harry and not as Velma like he was last time. When he got close enough for them to see (or smell, as the case may be), he was invited over to warm his hands. Holding his hands over the fire, he grinned at them and said hello. Jacob was looking at him with a little frown on his face, and he realized that Jacob didn't recognize him with his hood up. He didn't remove it.

Because of his accent, he was promptly asked where he is from.

Feeling a naughty desire to lie because Jacob didn't regonize him and couldn't call him on it, he claimed Scotland, and said that he is heading for Alaska to do some mountain climbing with his family.

Jacob recognized something familiar about the way he, going as Danny, gesticulated. He was reminded strongly of Harry, and blushed when he realizes that he would much rather be with Harry, running through the woods yelling and laughing like they had last time, than here on the beach with his friends. He'd been here, just like this except for the wolf part, for years.

He felt tired of being himself.

"Danny" left after an hour, but not before sharing an embarrassing story about a school friend of his named Ron and his terror of spiders and dancing. After he left, the Pack discussed him. It was generally agreed that not all Brits are as nasty as Velma Hall. Jacob wanted badly to defend her, but knew that he couldn't risk the questions this would raise and kept silent.

They might not be shunning him, but he didn't want to remind them of his scandalous feelings in regards to Velma.

000

End chapter 33

HA! An update!


	34. Chapter 34

A/N: Sorry for not updating for a while, but reality kind of swelled up like this big balloon and then exploded in my face. I feel kind of scared, kind of excited, and my ears are ringing.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Little less than a month had passed since their drunken romp in the frozen woods.

Jacob sighed and pressed his palms over his eyes, digging them in until his eyeballs squirmed in their sockets to get away. His Fag Alter-Ego refused to be silenced after school Wednesday afternoon. He was in the shop, and mentally reliving the last time he saw Harry in there with him. His mind's eye lingered on the tears in Harry's jeans and the way his hands felt in his when he warmed them with his own.

He groaned and flopped onto his back, the carpet square lightly digging into his lower back where his shirt rode up. He scratched his stomach and watched the fan blades spin above his head, trying to sort his thoughts.

There were several big questions. The first one was, was he gay?

He thought about it. He was utterly obsessed with Bella for more time than a brief crush could encompass. And even now, when Bella was no longer interesting, as soon as he caught a whiff of Velma, he was riveted to her every move. He sighed, and then realized that he was mooning over her for the billionth time that day. He quickly stopped and moved on to his conclusion. No, he couldn't be gay because he still liked women.

Okay. So he liked both men and women. What was he going to do about this?

Did he _need _to do anything about it? Unfortunately, he knew himself a little too well for that to fly. Kissing Velma once was enough to open the floodgates of desire, and he knew damn well that he'd do it again in a heartbeat. And yes, he wanted to kiss Harry too. It wouldn't just be kissing, either. Oh no. Nothing could be that easy for him, could it?

His mind was satisfied for now. He wondered why he was so afraid to think about this before now. It really wasn't so bad. So he liked men _and _women. He could handle that. He just didn't know what he would do if he ever had to choose between Harry and Velma. They were so different, but at the same time they were almost the same person.

Sitting up, he got to work. He hummed while he worked, and shuffled his feet a little between tasks. Life was good. He finally sorted out what exactly he was feeling, and his 18th birthday was next month. It wasn't like he planned to run away on his 18th like he used to dream of, but he still had a thrumming sensation in his stomach when he thought about it. Something was good was going to happen on his birthday, he just knew it!

000

Harry was having a mental breakdown. Or at least it felt like he was having a breakdown of some variety. He took a gulp of sour wine and got comfortable on the sofa. He was alone, his reports were done, and he had the rest of the week's lesson plans organized. It didn't matter how drunk he got now, and should his wards fail and he become the victim of a savage Vampire attack, he would at least die happy.

The first problem was, obviously, that he was drinking too much, much too much. Half the days he showed up to work, he was hung over. And the stress on his liver was aggravating his old war wounds. The liquor created a vicious cycle of pain and using the liquor as a pain number.

In other news, his teacher's salary was pathetic. It helped that Bronwyn didn't make him pay rent, but his small savings weren't looking good for the future. Lately thinking about the future made him feel sick. He had a feeling that he couldn't keep up the pretense of being a woman for forever. He used to think that he could, that it was the only way to hide from the Aurors and the cops, but wearing a corset five days a week does wonders to wearing down one's will.

And finally there was Jacob. He couldn't seem to stop looking at him when he was in class, and couldn't wait to come see him after school. It was a daily struggle to rein himself in and restrict himself to bi-weekly hang out sessions with his love interest. Seeing him more than that a week and he would start to let down his guard, and that would open a whole new can of worms.

He couldn't be having with that, so he kept as much of a distance as he could.

The bottle was empty. He scrutinized it as best as he could without his glasses, catching a blurry picture of the empty glass. Convinced that it really was empty and not messing with his head, he bent forward slowly, trying not to jostle his swimming head, and set the bottle on the floor.

Mission accomplished, he grabbed hold of the back of the sofa and slowly levered himself upright. It was difficult, and his back popped several vertebrae. He was stiffer than he thought.

His bed called to him, and he barely stripped out of his clothes before falling face-first into his pillow. It wasn't eight o'clock yet, but he was exhausted. He dropped off in minutes, idly thinking about what to get Jacob for Christmas.

Maybe he could give him a big dose of The Truth.

000

Bella smoothed her dress, and looked over her shoulder at Edward to see what he thought. Sadly enough, he was much better at this fancy dress thing than she was, and gladly offered to help her choose something for their rehearsal dinner when Alice had to go do something with Jasper at the last minute

She blushed when she remembered the way Alice had winked suggestively when referring to what exactly she needed to help Jasper with. There are some things which one would rather not know about one's best friend's sex life.

"How about this one?"

He shook his head, "The color isn't right for you. You're pale enough without needing any help from a dress."

She grinned, "What, do I look…undead?"

Running his fingers through his hair, he avoided her eyes. Her grin faded, and she stepped off the dressing platform and sank into the sofa beside him. The designer boutique they were shopping in was mostly empty, so there was no one to hear her ask, "Are you still upset when I talk about becoming like you?"

The music was little more than a distant hum with piano keys seasoning it, but somehow it overwhelmed her when he nodded just noticeably.

"Edward, please stop thinking the way you do. It makes both of us unhappy, and it isn't helping anything. Nothing is going to happen to me, and if it does, it will be fate and there's nothing we could do about it in the first place."

"How can you say that?" he whispered, "When you know what I am, and what I did. Are you saying that that was destiny, and that it was meant to happen?"

She shrugged, the satiny dress she was wearing rustling with the movements of her muscles. She laid her palm flat against his chill cheek, "I won't try to convince you. I know you too well for that. But yes, I do believe that everything that happens, good or bad, happens for a reason. If things didn't work out the way they did, we would never have met, much less decided to share out futures together."

He looked up and opened his mouth to retort, but she beat him to it.

"You need to trust not only yourself, but me a little better. Now, go pick out a dress that doesn't make me look like a corpse."

He smirked, "Yes ma'am."

000

Christmas break was excessively welcome. Harry looked forward to sleeping in, and, because he'd already bought small gifts for Leah and Jacob, he had no worries.

Being in this blissful state of mind, he was understandably shocked when he ran into Bella Swan at the local gas station, where he was buying cigarettes, and found her in tears. She was in the frozen goods section, with frozen lasagna clutched to her chest, with big tears rolling down her cheeks.

Needless to say, he had quite a fight with his fight or flight instincts before finally deciding to walk away and pretend that he didn't see her.

He was no good with crying women, unless they were Hermione.

000

End chapter 34

Sorry it's a little short, but I am sick and it's a wonder I can string two thoughts together.


	35. Chapter 35

A/N: Not only does this story have more communities than Resurfacing, but it is almost 800 reviews strong! Needless to say, I am sitting here utterly stupefied with glee. Thank you sooooo much for all the unbelievable support this story has gotten! I mean, holy shit, guys. I want this story to eventually surpass even Dark Clouds in popularity.

Chapter Thirty-Five

It was Christmas Eve. Normally Harry would be sulking somewhere trying not to think about the Weasleys and Sirius, but not this year. This year he was sitting at a card table set up in Leah's coffee shop, which was closed for the day, crammed between Jacob and Seth.

On the table in front of them were rolls of wrapping paper, bows, and assorted presents taped into anonymous cardboard boxes with names scribbled on them in permanent marker. He wasn't sure how it happened, but he stopped by for coffee one minute and found himself suckered into helping Leah manage her gift-wrapping the next. He should've come as Harry instead of Velma.

Seth was shrinking as far from him as possible. He tried not to grin whenever he remembered his student's terror of him.

He twisted a piece of plastic ribbon around his current project, adjusted it to his liking, and tied it into a bow. Beside him, Jacob had somehow tangled his fists and forearms in several feet of the stuff. He helplessly tried to flex his way out of it, but the plastic stretched and twisted into painful cords instead of snapping.

Noticing his distress, Harry found one of the loose ends and methodically began untangling it. He didn't see Leah and Seth stop what they were doing to watch gape-mouthed as his fingers twitched and flashed quick as lightning on the ribbons.

Freed at last, Jacob rubbed the circulation back into his arms and thanked him. Harry waved a hand.

"Whatever. It's Christmas. If now isn't the time to do someone a favor, I don't know when."

"True," Jake agreed, carefully shoving the ribbon as far away from him as the table would allow. He stuck a bow on top of the present instead, and gently set it on the floor and slightly off to the side, with the other finished presents. Rubbing his hands together, he looked over at Leah and asked, "So, because Velma here is being a saint and helping us out like this, are you willing to stop being such a frigid bitch about guests and have her over tomorrow?"

Harry opened his mouth to object to anyone feeling obligated in any way whatsoever towards him, but Leah beat him to the punch,

"I think I can de-frost my heart for one day. And Velma, calm down, there will be drinks. I wouldn't subject you to my family without them."

He laughed, "Are you insintuating that I'm an alcoholic?"

"Insinuating? Honey, you make my grandpa, who hasn't been sober but two days since he turned thirteen, look positively dried-out."

He pretended to sulk, and taped an unruly bit of paper down, "That's real nice. Some friend you are. Anyway, I only have one condition regarding my attendance. If you look out the window yonder, I believe that you will observe white flakes of specially-altered water floating in the air and covering most of the surfaces. That white stuff does not agree with me walking all the way from my house to yours, and in the morning to boot. I must have a ride."

She waved a hand, "Oh that's no big deal. You'll go get her, won't you Jakey?"

'Jakey' choked on his hot chocolate, recovered, and nodded. Harry noticed that there was a little bit of a jerk to Jake's movements and correctly guessed that the teen wolf was remembering what happened the last time he drove Velma somewhere.

He blushed despite himself.

000

The party at the Clearwater's was…crowded. The wolves were all there, and Harry knew that they all sniffed him at least once. He hoped that none of them noticed that fact that he was a guy underneath all his perfume and padding.

A few drinks and some mulled wine later, he found a seat on the couch, made sure his skirts were covering everything, and just relaxed. The food was good, there were classic pop songs about Christmas on the radio, and everybody was nice to him.

He was having a fabulous time and even got a gift from Leah. It was a bra, the kind with black lace and, in his case, unnecessary padding.

The day passed nicely, and he casually talked with anyone who sat next to him. Around the 3 o'clock mark in the afternoon, though, he saw Jacob get restless and start checking the clock.

Jacob stretched, and turned to Velma. She looked very relaxed, and about as threatening as a field mouse. But he knew that that was only an illusion, created by his desires to help him rationalize spending more time with her. It was a very, very bad idea, but he opened his mouth and asked, "Did you want to come with me to the Swan's? The Chief invited me, and said he didn't care if I brought someone."

Velma flexed her hands, took a sip of her wine, and nodded, "That sounds brilliant. I don't really want to go home yet, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I don't think I'd like being alone at all during the holidays."

She swerved her lips up in a crooked smile that didn't have a touch of good cheer, "You have no idea."

He helped her up, and waited for her to find her coat. He had on a light jacket, only as a pretense. He wished that he could tell her what he told Harry. He felt so right telling Harry, and the same loose-lipped feeling arose around Velma, but he knew that she wouldn't be as accepting. She couldn't be. Harry was a freak of nature for not caring the way he did. She couldn't possibly…it just couldn't be.

Coat buttoned all wrong but uncaring, she said her goodbyes and then joined him in the mudroom. He saw her boots, and frowned. There was a scratch on the right shoe, right along the rounded toe area, that was identical to one on Harry's boots.

What the _flip _was going on…?...!

…!

There was no way. Nuh-uh. He obviously was on drugs or something…

He couldn't help it. He started to look at her, _really _look at her. There was something just slightly off. He couldn't put his finger on it. She was…

But then Velma snapped her fingers under his nose and asked if they were going to the Swan's, or standing in the mudroom for the rest of the afternoon. He got out of his funk, and the train of thought vanished back into the fog without revealing what exactly it was that he was missing.

The drive wasn't overlong, and they chatted comfortably instead of sitting in silence like he'd feared. It was as though their previous bad experience, though whether it was so bad after all still frequented his dreams, was erased along with the accompanying awkwardness.

There was a silver Volvo and several other cars parked around the Swan's property. Jacob set his jaw. He didn't want to deal with the leeches today, and he could see by the way Velma was tensing up that she remembered the vehicles. They turned to look at each other at the exact time and their eyes met.

"Uh…"

"Ah…"

He sucked on his lower lip, and compromised, "How about we just go in and say hi, eat some dinner, and get the fuck out? Oh, sorry for the language-"

"It's fine. And that sounds alright. Just don't expect me to hold my tongue around that bitch and her boyfriend if they're there like I think they are."

He snorted, "I stopped forming expectations for you a long time ago."

She raised an eyebrow, "Oh really? And why is that?"

The car door dinged as he popped it open, and he swung one leg out before answering, "Because you always surpass them."

She punched him in the spine on their way up to the house, and he threw snow at her skirts. She reached down and formed a snowball out of the soggy snow, and lobbed it at his knee. He made one as well, but the door opened before he could throw it.

It was Dr. Cullen, Edward's dad, and the leader of their little group of blood-suckers. He didn't look like a bad guy. Jacob nodded to him and dropped the snowball he was holding. Velma laughed, dusted herself off, and charged ahead of him and into the warmth of the house.

She offered her hand to Dr. Cullen, who took it and spoke pleasantly to her for a few seconds before disappearing into the milling guests. Velma jerked her head at him, and he stepped inside after her. They divested themselves of their coats and hung them up themselves since no host made an appearance.

Velma leaned in and muttered, "Would a drink make you more or less comfortable?"

"I don't know," he whispered back.

"Okay, I'll get one big one and if you want some we can share. Deal?"

"Deal."

They sat in the kitchen, where the volume was lower, and sipped punch together. Jacob tried very hard to not fantasize about doing this with her in more perfect environments. Possibly with the addition of holding her hand…

Edward Cullen stalked into the kitchen, gave them a dirty look, seized a spinach pastry, and left.

"Douchey dickbag…" Velma muttered it into her cup, but Jacob knew Edward heard it because he stood up just a tiny bit straighter. It was what he deserved for snubbing them, though. Bastard.

Out of boredom, they followed him to the base of the stairs and stayed at the bottom watching him ascend. He stopped outside Bella's room and knocked. It opened a fraction, and then slammed in his face.

Jacob and Velma looked at each other. Edward was coming back down. His eyes flashed when he realized that they witnessed his rejection at her hands, but he kept walking. Jacob had to wonder what was going on with them, though. Normally they were as sticky-sweet as molasses, but apparently not anymore.

He stomped on the part of him that wanted to go up and comfort Bella and make her his instead of Edward's. Bella was no saint, and not even much of a catch, but she deserved better than an infatuation with someone like Edward.

Velma grabbed his elbow and led him away, bringing him back to reality and an increased awareness of just how much he liked it when she touched him. It had been so long, too long, since he last felt the unique thrill of her hands.

They spent the rest of the party eating their weight in fancy bite-size food and whispering gossip about the other guests. When they left, Velma wasn't as drunk as she was last time, but she was pretty close.

Her hair was strangely askew in the car driving back.

Arriving, she laughed and joked, "I don't think I'll risk inviting you in, Mr. Hothead, but I will ask you what you're doing for New Years."

"Well, usually most of the Reservation, including me, goes to the beach. The stars are easier to see there, and sometimes we swim. I don't know if it's your 'scene', but I can pick you up at four if you want."

She nodded, "I think I'd like that. And Leah needs more women around."

He laughed, "Oh, definitely. Anything to distract so she gets off the rest of us is great."

"I'll tell her you said that," Velma teased, getting out of the car and heading up the drive to her house.

He couldn't help but notice that the way she walked was a lot like the way Harry walked, but with more hips.

Huh. Weird.

000

End chapter 35

People, I am feeling GOOD about this story. Plot is happening all over the place, and my sober week is over. I feel damn good.


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: This chapter contains a Lemon. If you don't want to read it…uh…well, I don't know what to tell you, other than maybe don't click on stories that say 'SLASH' in their summaries in the future. They tend to contain sex scenes at some point.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Jacob was nervous and afraid and angry. That wasn't a good emotion cocktail for a trigger-happy wolf to have, but what could you do? He was nervous about having Velma over tomorrow, and the rest was purely because of Harry. He hadn't seen him in over a week!

Was he okay? It was very cold outside, especially at night. Maybe he froze to death in his tent, or migrated somewhere warmer without bothering to say goodbye. How would he ever know the difference? Some bear would eat his remains when they thawed out in the spring, and all he'd find is maybe a tent pole or two.

He clenched his fists in his blankets and then rolled over onto his side and curled into a ball. On his nightstand was the present he bought for him, a Chuck Berry CD. Harry liked old music like that for reasons of his own. He even knew all the words when he came on the radio, which was more often than he'd expected. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at it, but the underside of his eyelids were displaying nightmarish images of Harry being mauled by Vampires, Harry frozen solid, and Harry starving to death.

With a moan of frustration, he got out of bed and started tying shirts around his neck; he added a pair of sweatpants after some thought. He shucked off his sleep pants and opened the window once he had enough clothes to keep Harry warm if he found his body. He climbed out quietly and shut it behind him.

And then he transformed and started sniffing around.

~000~

Alone in his house but for the slumbering faerie folk, Harry wandered from room to room. His socked feet padded soundlessly across the cold wooden floor, whispering when he scuffed his feet. Everything was so _quiet, _too quiet for him to rest easy. The snow, thick over everything and cloaking his house like a fur coat made from a fierce polar bear, muffled everything but the sound of his breathing.

His hair was standing on end.

If you asked him why, he wouldn't know what to say, and would have to say that it was just his nerves. But he knew that it was more than that. Something was different, something was going to change. The cogs of fate were whirring and twisting his life into a new shape.

He wished he wasn't so sober, but no matter how much he drank he couldn't make the crystal-clear instinct go away.

At last he seized his coat, stuffed his pajama-clad legs into boots, and went outside. It was freezing, but beautiful in a way that made you warm and peaceful inside. At leas the alcohol was good for something. It would keep his blood from freezing for many hours.

His hair was a mess. A handy iced-over puddle showed him that, and also pointed out his thinning cheekbones and hollowing eyes. He wasn't aging well, and it would only get worse if he didn't ease up on the drinking. He lit a cigarette, and looked at it after taking the first drag. He should probably ease up those too.

The woods called to him, and his upright hair swayed in the wind. He walked.

~000~

It was almost an hour into his search before he looped around closer to the Reservation's outskirts and caught a hint of him, just a hint.

He filled his lungs with it and let out a little 'yip' before he could stop himself, feeling like a pup with a new bone. He followed it. It led him back into the woods a little ways. He spotted a few cigarette butts and grinned a wolf grin; same old Harry. If he was healthy enough to smoke, then all his panic was for nothing. His adrenaline started to soar higher than ever, so high that it took him some time to notice that his fag Alter Ego was taking over. By the time he noticed, it was too late.

Harry was going to get quite the welcome.

And then he saw him. He was leaning against a tree, messing with his lighter and trying to light what he smelled was a soggy cigarette. He changed form and put on the clothes around his neck, bare feet cracking the iced leaves he stood on.

Harry looked up and jerked when he saw Jacob standing there. His skin prickled, and his mouth started to tingle. And then Jacob charged him.

Jacob kissed him, pressing him tightly against a tree and almost sobbing with relief when Harry kissed back with as much fervor. This went on for some time, during which somehow Harry lost his shirt. There was something so right about kissing Harry. Sure, he was a guy, but right now he didn't care jack squat about that. He just knew he never wanted to stop.

"Shit…we shouldn't be doing this…!" Harry whispered, breaking apart, breathing hard. Jacob was hurt.

"Why not? I thought you were dead!" he pressed in close, rubbing his cheek against Harry's cold nose, "Come on, don't I at least deserve a little kiss for my panic? What's the problem?"

"You're seventeen!" Harry squeaked when he reached the last syllable of 'seventeen', and went on to add, "This is illegal, and very wrong."

"I thought you didn't care about rules!" Jacob retorted, using his anger to hide how vulnerable he felt to what Harry was saying. He felt like the foundation of the earth was floating away, leaving him behind, conflicted and confused. His body and his heart were screaming at him to pull Harry closer, no matter his outward objections, but his mind held him in check.

Harry looked down, "I don't care about the law as long as I know that breaking it won't hurt somebody I care about. In this case it would hurt somebody: you. And because I…I care about you so much, I can't take advantage of you like this. You don't know what you do to me, and that isn't your fault."

Jacob almost let it end there, but then he remembered how feverish he felt, and still did, and how gorgeous Harry was when he was aroused but trying not to be. He stomped on his common sense and stepped forward, pinning Harry to the tree again. Silently, he nuzzled his throat and chest, inhaling his scent of pine needles and soap greedily. Harry caught his breath and twice attempted to admonish him, but Jacob paid him no heed and continued to rub his face against him, then his hands, and finally his hips. Harry groaned helplessly and melted against him, rough fingers running through his hair and down his broad back.

He bent his head almost entirely around Harry's, and flicked his tongue against the depression his spine made where it connected to the base of his skull. He pressed their hips tightly together and thrust a few times, lazily. Harry made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and bit his shoulder. Jacob grinned and grabbed the back of his left knee, lifting the leg and wrapping it around his waist. He spared a moment to be proud of his own strength before bending slightly and capturing the other leg, supporting it until Harry locked his ankles.

Harry's neck tendons tensed as he nibbled on them, and spasmed when he sucked on his Adam's apple. Harry moaned and grabbed the back of his head, drawing his face upwards and to his lips.

_Rough draft version_

Jacob obliges, and licks the insides of his cheeks. Harry squeezed his legs around him, and clumsily rocked his hips upwards. Jacob was surprised but pleased and enthusiastically ground Harry into the tree while running his hands down his chest and doing his damnedest to swallow his tongue. Sweat started to bead all over him and Harry started making these little breathless sounds with every move of Jacob's hips, surging down to meet his thrusts when he came up.

He pulled away from his mouth to breathe and saw that Harry was on the verge of orgasming (he hoped). He jerked his groin up as forcefully as possible and as inexorably as a siege machine. He pressed his mouth against his neck, kissed it, and whispered, "I turn 18 next month," accentuating each word with push.

Harry's eyes shot open and Jacob reached between them to shove his hand down the front of his pants. Harry's shock (he didn't realize that Jacob was close, so close he could taste the possibilities) pushed him over the edge and he released just as Jacob's hand grasped him.

Jacob shot off some heavy pre-cum when he felt how much Harry came, feeling it dripping down his palm and onto the snow.

"Holy fuck!" Harry rasped, holding tightly to his neck while he panted, trying to get his breath back. He was completely, blissfully numb, and his legs went to sleep long ago in their cramped positions. The frozen bark sliced through his shirt and worked its revenge on his back for his unfair jostling. Some beads of warm blood oozed down the indent of his spine and down the back of his pants.

His erection impatiently stirred when Harry shifted himself a little, eliciting a weak moan from Jacob.

A moment of sanity imposed on him. This could be Jacob's first time, which might mean that Jacob would become unduly attached him because of the emotional surge that…wait, why was this a bad thing again?

Harry smirked and began to swirl his hips down against him, taking one hand from Jacob's neck to glide it down his chest. He shuffled the angle of his hips backwards, and caught hold of his zipper. He tugged it down.

"Oh…" Jacob gasped, and Harry slipped his hand inside to pull him out.

"I can't help but notice that you haven't come yet," Harry noted conversationally, rubbing his calloused hand teasingly along him. Jacob jolted forward and whimpered when the head smacked into Harry's waiting wrist. He flexed his fingers around him and delicately pinched the tip, soothed with pre-cum and red even in the feeble starlight.

"Shit, Harry, please…"

Harry didn't reply but grasped him in his fist and slid down the length, squeezing tight when he reached the base.

"Ugh," Jacob grunted, slipping his face into the groove of Harry's neck. He nibbled when Harry's hand slid up, just as slowly.

"Harry, you're a big tease, did you know that?"

Harry flicked his fingernails against him and smiled when Jacob's breath caught, "How so?" his fist resumed it's stroking as Jacob struggled to operate his vocal chords.

"Well, you-ah!- mess with my hands and you…oh…you, uh, you bathe naked when you know I'm…ah-ha!- w-watching you and I know that you…oh, shit, I'm going to die if you don't go faster!"

The fist abruptly sped up and Harry's other hand mysteriously stopped clutching Jacob's neck, only to reappear in time for the leaking tip to smack desperately into it.

"God!"

Harry began to squeeze the tip every time he moved forward, and his other hand abandoned the shaft to roll his through his slick fingers.

"You never finished telling me what makes me a tease," Harry pointed out through Jacob's groans and huffs for breath.

"Can't…talk…gonna…cum!"

His hips moved out of rhythm, moving hard enough against Harry to leave bruises. Sticky strings of cum stuck to Harry's stomach and pooled in his navel, joining him to Jacob, whose legs were wobbling dangerously. Harry became aware that the tree was the only thing holding them up.

"To finish, you, ah, you wiggle your hips when you walk. It makes me crazy."

There was a breathless pause, and then Harry asked, "Wait, you watch me bathe?"

Jacob removed his forehead from its spot against the tree and mumbled, "…Don't tell me you had 'fun in the tub' that one time you showered at my house without knowing I was nearby."

Harry looked at him blankly, and then they both blushed.

"Oh."

"Oh."

After several minutes of painful silence, Jacob asked if Harry wanted to hang out tomorrow morning, and maybe come with his family to the beach that night for Christmas celebrations.

"I can't come for the beach part. I have a previous appointment that I really can't get out of, but I will come over until noon tomorrow. I can give you your present."

"You got me a present?" Jacob wasn't expecting that. Harry didn't seem the type to have spare cash for stuff like that.

"You bet your ass I got you a present."

He laughed and dipped his head for another kiss. It was hard to stop doing that. And when they finally went their separate ways for the night, his lips tingled all the way home.

~000~

End chapter 36


	37. Chapter 37

A/N: I must warn you before you read this that I have been drunk all day. Why? Because it's Sunday and I can do whatever I want (that and I don't believe in medicinal painkillers. Wine does the job SO much better). So…if this is weird, uh, now you know why. And if that wasn't bad enough, I also didn't sleep last night. Heh…heh…heh…oh dear.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Harry woke up with an upset stomach and a mind in a far worse state. How could he have let that happen?

Rolling over, he curled his arms and legs close to his chest in the fetal position and kept his eyes squeezed tight. It was inevitable now. Jacob was going to find out that he was also Velma, and then he would hate him. Why would he hate him? Because he knew from personal experience how hard it was to trust someone who lied to you for a long time about something important. It still hurt when he thought about everything Dumbledore and the Order kept from him. They meant well, but it just caused so much pain.

He groaned, half from pain and half from the memory of Jacob's hips last night. It did feel good at the time, though. That much he couldn't deny. Then again, the forbidden fruit was probably just as delicious to Eve that fateful sun-soaked day in Eden.

As much as he would like to become one with his mattress and never behold the outer half of the shell his house created, such an option was not available. He had promised to spend the morning with Jacob, and spend it with Jacob he would.

Rolling out of bed, he tripped over his boots and fell on his back, reopening the scrapes from the bark the night before.

"Ow! Fuck!"

That settled it. Today was going to be utter _hell._

~000~

Jacob paced the house from front to back exactly one hundred and eighty-six times before Harry knocked on the porch door at two minutes until ten.

He flung the door open with far more enthusiasm than called for, and Harry actually took a step back before laughing. After his laugh died away, they stood there looking at each other but not meeting each other's eyes. what were they supposed to do now?

Having been sexually naïve until the night before, Jacob had never encountered the uncomfortable phenomenon of the morning after before and wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. Should he kiss Harry? And if so, where?

Should he shake his hand?

In the end, he clapped him hesitatingly on the shoulder before stepping aside to let him inside. He spotted a small lumpy package in Harry's hand and felt a jab of boyish excitement about getting a present from him. It would be the first time he would receive a gift from someone he was romantically interested (or was that involved?) in. God only knows that Bella never gave him anything but heartache and worry.

His dad was slumped on the couch with some of the other Elders of the clan, and they nodded to Harry when he raised a hand in greeting.

"Hello all. I'm Harry, Jake's friend. I'm assuming you," he pointed to Billy, "are his father, and the rest of you are family?"

Billy raised his eyebrows, obviously impressed, "It's not every day a stranger can pick me out of a crowd like that. How did you know it was me?"

"You have the same twinkle in your eyes that keeps me light on my toes. I'm kind of happy you can't walk- I don't know if I could handle both of you and your pranks."

There was general laughter, and room was made on the sofa for them. Jacob was teased for his pacing earlier, and Harry was handed a beer. They watched a sports program on the TV for the next several hours, hours that seemed like an eternity to Jacob.

He was sitting beside Harry, their thighs pressed tightly together, calves touching at the curve below the knee, and their shoulders brushed every time one of them exhaled. It was maddening. There was something extra to Harry's smell today, and he realized with a start that he smelled himself. Even though Harry had bathed, his smell still lingered over him like a protective shroud.

Needless to say, he was very happy for the argyle lap blanket he was sharing with Harry.

At some point, it was decided that they should make lunch. Because they were the youngest people there by far, Harry and Jacob were selected.

They made canned tomato soup and cheese sandwiches in silence for twenty agonizing minutes, until finally Jacob couldn't take the pressure anymore and seized Harry by the sleeve, pulling him close to whisper into his ear,

"Do you…you know, still feel the same way you did last night?"

Harry nodded without hesitating, and peeked around Jacob to make sure nobody was looking at them from the living room (they weren't, too hypnotized by the glowing telly screen to bother with their doings) before tilting onto his toes and kissing him on the chin.

"Of course. I just didn't want to…well, it seemed kind of sudden last night and it still hasn't fully sunk in for me, so I didn't want to ambush you with any emotional outbursts."

Jacob flushed, and fiercely whispered, "Are you saying that I am having an emotional outburst?"

Harry shook his head, "I didn't say that. Come on, the soup is burning. Shut up and get back to work if you want your present later."

Unable to resist, he made a final grab at Harry's ribs, fingers settling with blissful ease into the grooves of his bones. He pulled him to stand beside him, and Harry resignedly moved his cutting board with the sandwich materials on it beside the stove and asked out of the corner of his mouth,

"Does that satisfy you?"

"Yes," He nosed his hair, and looked up to see his dad eyeing him with surprise from the couch.

Shit!

He retracted his face from Harry's addictive smell and busied himself with the bubbling soup. Harry's shoulders had gone tense, so he knew that he knew his dad saw them as well. His stomach felt cold and twisted with the fear.

He would eighteen next month, but he wasn't ready to get kicked out, if that was the reaction his dad had. He didn't know how his dad felt about gays for a long time until he overheard him a few years ago talking to Charlie about his. He didn't like the gay culture, but not for ignorant or even moral reasons. He disliked it because of unsafe it was for so many young people who had so much talent. The foolishness of youth led to irrational decisions, and through that death, be it by disease or accident or crime.

His throat tightened in time with his intestines, and his hands shook as he ladled the soup into bowls. What if Harry had HIV, or AIDS? He never asked, and Harry never volunteered the information. How was he supposed to know? What if they'd gone further than they had, and he caught something? Damn it, now he couldn't stop thinking about the possibilities.

He didn't think Harry would do anything like that to him, but he never thought that Bella would stab him in the back like she did, but she did. Anything was possible when it came to people.

They served lunch, but the food sat like a rock in his insides and he barely tasted it.

Harry looked at him several times, frowning with worry, but he didn't look back. The gold-tinged memories he had of Harry were taking on a far more serious color now. This was a big decision he was making, this decision to have…whatever it was that he and Harry had. He knew he wanted it, and badly, but that was all he knew. Harry was still a stranger in some ways.

He cleared the dishes on his own, and filled the sink with water so hot his hands turned bright red. He was half-way through washing the dishes when Harry joined him at the sink and started to rinse the dishes he'd washed.

Neither of them could think of anything to say, but Harry skated his fingers down Jacob's side before going to sit after sweeping the floor.

When it got close to two, Harry excused himself and said that he really had to get going. This announcement was met with much protest from the elders and jabs about finding them too boring. He deflected all of these and managed to procure a moment alone with Jacob in his room under the pretense of using the toilet.

Harry wanted to kiss him, but somehow he knew that it wouldn't be appreciated right now for reasons he didn't understand. Jacob handed him a flat square wrapped in holly paper.

He unwrapped it and discovered Chuck Berry CD inside. Grinning, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the lumpy object from before. Jacob unwrapped the newspaper covering it and revealed a mug emblazoned with the face of deceased Princess Diana. He raised his eyebrows and gave Harry a quizzical look.

Harry shrugged, "it was the only thing I had that I could spare to give away that wasn't liquid death."

A startled laugh broke out of his throat, and before his new sense of panic could ruin the moment he folded Harry under his chin and held him for a few moments. Harry couldn't breathe very well with his face scrunched into Jacob's armpit, but he chose not to comment and slipped his arms around his hips instead.

"I think I love you. Is that weird?"

He shook his head as best as he could, happy that Jacob's shirt hid his huge silly grin. Sure, this was going to make things awful later, but right now it felt incredible to be held and loved by someone like Jacob, someone who was thoughtful and considerate and loving beyond what anyone would have expected from a seventeen year old boy-man.

They broke apart when Jacob spotted that his alarm clock said 2:30.

"Uh, my dad is going to start getting suspicious soon if we don't go back out there."

Harry pocketed the CD, "Yeah. So, um, I will try to see you maybe the day after tomorrow?"

His face fell, "Why then and not tomorrow? And what are you doing tonight, anyway?"

Harry shuffled his feet, mind working frantically to come up with an answer other than 'I'll be too busy pretending to be a woman'. "Well, tonight I have to go look at my living arrangements. I'm moving my tent to this cave I found, and that's going to exhaust me. And tomorrow I am meeting with an old friend to get some money from him that he owes me. I might live in a tent, but there aren't any berries for me to live off of and I need money for food."

"_I _could give you money, if you need it so badly," Jacob offered, mind turning to the tidy sums he'd carefully saved. He wasn't going to go to college anyway, so why bother saving? "And you could sleep with me! I don't want you out there in the snow anyway."

Harry raised his hands, laughing a little, "Whoa, tiger, slow down! I might care about you, but I still need some measure of independence, and I haven't finished my year of living in a tent yet. Didn't I tell you I was doing it as an anthropological experiment? Maybe once the year is up, and I run out of money, I will swallow my pride. But remember, babe, I don't want to live off of you like some leech."

Jacob flinched at the word 'leech', but nodded. He understood what Harry meant. It hadn't even occurred to him that asking Harry to live with him might compromise his pride of life.

He walked him to the door, but could go no further because his dad was already calling him back to the couch to get his opinion on something on the TV. It was strangely symbolic- his father held him back from Harry in so many ways without realizing it.

He couldn't wait to pick up Velma that afternoon. It would answer how he was going to handle his split feelings. If he still had feelings for her even after everything with Harry, he would have to tell Harry that he wasn't completely faithful to her in his heart.

Half an hour later, even though he knew it was early, he decided to go pick her up. If she wasn't home, fine, he could take a walk. The snow felt good under his feet anyway.

~000~

In the safety of his bath, Harry smoked an entire packet of cigarettes. The smoke and steam swirled together into a thick heady cloud halfway down the wall.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do. What could he do? He was driving with no brake, walking a tightrope with no safety net. If this went south, he had no backup plan except maybe to _run, _and that wouldn't even work.

He was still pre-occupied with the way Jacob had started acting strange during the washing-up as he rolled on his stockings, sitting on the lower-story bed. A fairy sat in the corner reading a book bigger than its body times two. The snow muffled the sound of the knock, of the door opening, of footsteps coming down the hall, through the living room, pausing in the kitchen, and then coming down the hall towards him.

The under-slip, made of wool to keep him warm, got caught over his head so he didn't see his guest stop in the open doorway.

Freeing his head at last, he smoothed his hands through his inch-long hair, still damp from the bath, and turned towards the closet for his dress.

And there stood Jacob, mouth open, palms forwards, knees loose.

"Oh. Hello," it was a whisper softer than a kiss.

You could have knocked Jacob over with a puff of breath.

Their profiles were the same, he realized. The same profile, the glistening teeth biting the careful lip. How could he have missed this? It was so obvious it made him want to laugh and cry at the same time.

And then his eyes were suffused with gold as it sunk in that Harry and Velma were the same person. All this time it had been just one person that he was in love with. The two halves of his heart, one for each of them, merged and became one.

He didn't feel his knees slam into the floor, and certainly didn't notice when Harry skidded across the room in his stocking-feet to catch him before his head could do the same. His eyes were glazed over, mind a kaleidoscope of images saturated with emotions too strong to bear.

It didn't matter that he'd been lied to. It didn't matter that he had no idea what kind of future they would have together. All he knew was that, no matter what it was or what it cost him, he would do anything for Harry. Even if it meant dying to make him happy, or never seeing him again, or giving up everything else he cared about.

Harry was his whole world.

Before he blacked out completely, one last thought swam across his frontal lobes. _So this was what imprinting felt like. _

~000~

END CHAPTER 37


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: I am leaving Wednesday the 21st and won't be back until the following Sunday, late. This means no updates. Since I will be competing at the Regional debate and think it would be funny if I won, please send me your luck!

Chapter Thirty-Eight

He woke up in bed. Scratch that, in _a _bed. It wasn't his. This one had a quilt with little flowers and birds embroidered on it. He could see this because he was lying on his side, a pillow beneath his head and a scratchy wool blanket over him, his eye at level with the quilt. There was a slight downward incline on his other side, so he knew he wasn't alone. His nose informed him with no small amount of glee that it was Harry beside him, though he couldn't see him.

Something nagged at him, tugging on the sleeve of his psyche for attention. Irritably, he paid mind to what it was explaining to him.

He jerked upright.

He'd imprinted. He'd imprinted on Harry, who was also Velma. Harry didn't bother to tell him that he was also a curvaceous female who taught English with a rancor that would make any drill sergeant proud.

Oh, _fuck._

Looking over his shoulder, he met Harry's eyes over the edge of a book. It was Dostoyevsky's masterpiece, 'The Idiot'. His lips jolted up at the edges despite the situation.

"Um…"

"Yes?" Harry sounded calm, but not the sort of calm you were on a spring Sunday with nothing to worry you. He sounded calm like the staff of a mental hospital- infinitely patient and ready to defend himself at any moment.

He was feeling a little betrayed about Harry not saying something to him, but he reached out and cupped his bony knee anyway.

"I don't know what to say. I mean, you've been…you the whole time?"

Harry nodded, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. His jaw worked as he chewed it. He looked away after several uncomfortable seconds, looking out the window at the gray crippled sunshine coming through the window. He wasn't dressed as Velma, or even with the carelessness of Harry. A white t-shirt and the waistband of thick gray sweatpants were all he could see above the wool blanket, with the white toe of a socked foot peeking out at the bottom.

"Why?"

Harry snorted, "The gypsy proverb, 'lies keep the teeth white' comes to mind. I don't really know, Jake. I just…I couldn't tell you."

He tried to think of a retort but nothing came to mind.

"I'll get you something to drink. You need to keep hydrated after passing out like that," was what Harry said next, getting out from under the blanket. He walked out the door and left Jacob alone on the bed.

Possessed with a desire to be close to him, Jacob almost followed him into the kitchen but resisted. However, as soon as Harry returned, he sprang out of bed like a cork from a bottle and pinned him against the dresser. His lips covered his, and he nearly knocked the glass of water out of Harry's startled hands.

Setting the glass blindly on the night table behind him, he returned both hands to Harry's shoulders and used them as leverage to pull him upwards and closer to his seeking mouth. He felt feverish, delighted and furious all at once. His hands trembled, and he could feel Harry shaking against him.

As much as he wanted to stay fused with him forever, he was still human and needed to breathe. He stuffed his face into Harry's neck while he caught his breath, sliding his hands down his arms to knead his biceps. Harry sighed and kissed the bone behind his ear.

"I suppose it's a little late to care about the age difference, eh?" he laughed breathily, catching one of Jacob's hands and pulling it up to his lips to kiss his knuckles. He was overwhelmed right now. Jacob knew one of his biggest secrets, and the locks on his lips were starting to fester. He wanted to tell him everything, even the part about being a fugitive and his parents being magical police people.

Jacob snorted, "How old are you anyway?"

"I'm twenty, so really it isn't that big of a gap," he leaned back to look Jacob in the eye, and Jacob smirked down at him.

"Twenty? Aren't you too young to be an alcoholic?"

"Hey, fuck you. I am not an alcoholic. I can stop any time I want to."

Jacob raised an eyebrow to show just what he thought of that, "Whatever you say. I can smell it on your breath, by the way. Did you have a nip in the kitchen just now?"

Harry kicked him in the shin, "Hey, don't make fun of me."

Laughing, he pulled him back to the bed and settled on it with Harry between his legs, back pressed against his chest. He set his chin on top of his hair and sighed, "I'm not trying to make fun of you. I just worry about you, you know."

They sat together without speaking for several minutes until Harry jumped and exclaimed, "Oh! Shit! Your family! Aren't you supposed to be with them today?"

Jacob flinched. He'd forgotten all about that.

"Do you have a phone? I can tell dad I don't feel like coming this afternoon. He won't care as long as I show up tonight."

"It's in the kitchen."

Jacob disentangled himself from Harry, kissed his forehead, and dashed off to explain to his dad where he'd gone.

~000~

Harry really didn't know what he was thinking anymore. While Jacob was passed out he'd tried to strategize a little but hadn't been able to come up with any contingency plans, much less a way to explain this to Hermione. She was going to be pissed when she found out he was sleeping with a student, and positively livid when she found out they were pretty much in love. She would no doubt accuse him of corrupting a minor and yell at him for days on end before finally accepting it. And then there was Leah. He would have to tell her. He wasn't stupid enough to think that he could hide this from her, and telling her about him and Jacob would also mean revealing his true gender. It was all too much, and now he knew without a doubt that he wasn't going to be able to keep his mouth shut if Jacob asked him something like,

"So, is there anything else I should know about you?"

He flinched. He hadn't heard Jacob come back.

"Uh, well, I…"

Jacob settled in beside him and rolled them onto their sides facing one another. He plucked Harry's unread book out of his hands and put it on the night stand. He drank some of the water in the glass Harry got for him, and sucked one of the ice cubes into his mouth. He chewed on it and rolled back over to face Harry.

Harry looked nervous, which could only mean there were other things he wasn't privileged to know yet. He prodded Harry in the ribs.

"Hey, man, I told you about the teen wolf thing ages ago. Its time to even the score, and I wouldn't try getting out of this if I were you," he scooted close enough to press their noses together, "I have ways of making you talk."

Harry groaned and buried his face in the pillow before tearing himself away from it and blurting out, "I'm on the run from the government," he raised a hand before Jacob could say anything, "But don't worry! I didn't _really_ do anything wrong. It was all just a gross misunderstanding, and then they were going to lock me away and I didn't want to spend my life in a cage and I…well, I sort of ran off."

Jacob opened his eyes very wide, so wide that Harry feared they would pop out of his head. Finally he choked out, "What, exactly, was the misunderstanding?"

Harry replied, "The purpose of my existence. I behaved like a saint and they assumed I was a monster because they refuse to see which of us the dragon was."

"Oh," Jacob squeezed his hand in comfort when he saw how distressed Harry was getting about talking about this, wondering. Dragon? What did that have to do with anything? "Um, dragons?"

Harry flushed, "Sorry, it's an expression. It just means 'villain', or something similar. Basically, they thought I was the bad guy. But I wasn't. I promise you, everything I have ever done has been for a very good reason. The greater good looks ugly sometimes, though, and some things are hard to explain."

"…I see."

"Yeah," Harry craned his neck and lightly licked the tip of his nose, "Now, you tell me something scandalous about yourself. I can't be the only scarlet villain here."

He didn't think before replying, "Sometimes I contemplate suicide."

He wasn't expecting Harry to sit up and yell with far more force than he thought necessary, "While one's heart pumps blood one should live, damn it!"

Jacob confessed his doubts about how he could continue living while half and half, and Harry sighed, massaging the space between his eyebrows. He patted Jacob's shoulder, and said that he would get them some wine.

When he returned, bottle uncorked and ready, he lounged against the headboard him and took the first sip before offering the bottle to Jacob. As soon as Jacob's lips touched the bottle, Harry said in a cool quiet voice,

"Being a wolf is nothing to be ashamed of."

Jacob jerked the bottle down and snapped, "But I'm not ashamed! I'm just unhappy about it."

Harry started, and then reached out and began to stroke his hair, "I'm sorry. I misunderstood. Why are you unhappy about it?"

He hung his head, and twisted some of the braided covering off of the wine bottle, "I don't know how to explain it…I guess that I just hate not knowing who I am. The elders tell us to not forget our roots, but I don't want to live on a Reservation my whole life! I want a real future, different from the ones my ancestors have had. I've always wanted to fit in somewhere out there even though my race sets my apart. And then, on top of all that, I became a shape-shifter and got shanghaied into joining our tribe's pack. No matter what I do now, there is no way I can ever be normal."

Harry kissed the top of his head, "You might be different, but you're not alone. You have a whole pack of other weirdoes who can turn into wolves too, and you're dating _me, _which is hardly the step you want to take if you want a regular relationship."

Jacob snorted, taking a joyful leap inside at the word 'dating', "This is true. I guess I can accept it, but sometimes I forget that I'm not alone, and this despair wells up inside of me…especially at night."

"The next time you feel that way, get out of bed and come to me. I'll take care of you. Now, have another drink. You deserve it. And as for feeling like a jigsaw made up from the wrong pieces, just remember that nature and nurture shouldn't be seen as separate. They are inextricable, and any attempts to define them as separate are profoundly foolish. You should stop trying to decide who you are and just _be._"

He took another sip of the wine and thought about it. It sounded so easy, but he knew it was harder than that. However, feeling like shit because he didn't know what the hell he was or what was expected of him for the rest of his natural life and not thinking about it would solve the problem, then he would stop actively thinking about it. If Harry wanted him to just be, then he would do his best to do so.

"What makes you so sure I can do that?"

Harry smiled at him, "You can do anything. You're young, you're strong, you're smart, and you know better. You'll figure it out."

They lay in bed all afternoon, and diverged by silent vote from their secrets into general chatter. When evening came around, Harry dressed up as Velma, much to the fascination of Jacob, and accompanied him to the beach.

No one asked where they'd been that afternoon, and they didn't volunteer the information.

000

End chapter 38

Maybe I'll be able to update before I leave, but probably not.


	39. Chapter 39

A/N: I am back from Regionals. I'm not going to Nationals, but it's cool. I did okay at the tournament, in case anybody was wondering.

GUYS! This story has over 900 reviews! Do you have any idea how insane that is? Let's now see if we can 2000 before the story ends. That would be pretty damn kick-ass.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Harry was by the fire, warming his hands and wondering if he could adjust his stockings with no one noticing when Leah came over and laid her hand on his back. He jumped, not having heard her.

She snorted.

"Jesus, relax, Velma! You've been jumpy all night. Is there something going on that I should know about?"

He thought about telling her, wanted to tell her, but instead replied, "It's just that time of the month, you know? I don't feel right."

"Oh," Leah drew it out, nodding, "I get it. Want a beer? It might help with the cramping."

"Sure, that would be great," he followed her over to the log nearest to the beer supply and accepted the cup she handed him. Someone had brought a pair of kegs, and judging from the amount of laughing that was going on, they were getting empty.

He sighed and looked up at the stars. They were bright tonight, to the point of being visible through the thin cloud cover. Leah rested her head against his shoulder and slurped her cup. He smiled and laid his head on top of hers. He wanted to tell her, but he didn't know how she would react. Not to mention that it wasn't just his secret to share. Jacob was connected to every part of his life now.

How was he going to face him in class? He had less than two weeks to wonder, and shortly after that Jacob would turn eighteen…

A smirk broke out on his face before he could stop it, so he drank some beer to cover it up. It wouldn't do to look too happy. The Quileutes were eyeing him whenever they thought he wasn't paying attention, and it was very uncomfortable. When they'd first arrived, Jacob had stood as close to him as possible. But after a while people started to notice, and Seth teased him about being shy. Jake reluctantly moved away and was currently playing in the water with his peers.

Harry wistfully spared a look at the water, and caught sight of Jacob pushing one of his friends, Quil, under the water. He looked like he was having a good time. Changing the direction he looked, he locked eyes with Jacob's father, Billy Black. Remembering the way he'd spotted Jacob's moment of affection earlier in the day, he looked quickly away. The last thing he needed was for Billy to recognize him as Harry and blow his cover.

Leah dug her hand into his side, and he yelled.

"Hey! What the fuck was that for?" he realized that his voice sounded very masculine, and quickly added in more dulcet tones, "I'm sensitive!"

She sniggered, "Oh, don't be a baby! I was going to ask you, what kind of bra are you wearing? I've been pawing your breast for the past five minutes and you haven't even noticed! Is it an inch thick or do you just not mind?"

He flushed and snapped, "It's thick! I most certainly mind!"

She made another grab and he stood, shrieking, "Stop that! Leave me alone!"

He was forced to run to escape her, realizing after their third lap around the campsite that she was damned fast. He out on another burst of speed and managed to leap over several seated people. There were whoops of excitement, and people started yelling encouragements and insults.

He was tired and there was sand in his drawers, but he was happy. It was nice to be with Jacob's people, even if he was in a dress.

000

Jacob managed to lull himself into a false sense of security during the night's festivities. Because the Pack kept him in the water or running along the beach for most of the night, he was able to avoid being alone with his father and forgot all about his slip-up in the kitchen.

But when they were in the car alone after dropping off Samson, Billy turned off the radio and turned to look at him instead of out the window like he usually did.

"Son, is there something you want to tell me?"

Jacob swallowed, a million things welling to the tip of his tongue. That one time in the woodshed with Seth, the bad report card he hid, all the times he resented having to live with a disabled father…

"Like what?" he choked out instead.

"Like what, exactly, you were doing with that friend of yours in the kitchen earlier today: you looked like you were standing awful close to each other. I'd like you to explain that to me," his voice was taking on that sarcastic edge that Jacob knew meant trouble if he didn't start explaining, and quick.

His tongue felt thick and foreign in his mouth, like wet felt, but somehow it managed to respond, "I was…uh…we're really close friends."

"I could see that. Why were you sniffing him? You don't see _me _sniffing Charlie, and we've been friends for longer than you've been alive, and he knows shit about me I'd never tell anyone else."

He stopped at their driveway and turned off the ignition. Billy laid a hand on his arm when he reached for the door, stopping him.

"We're not done. Jake, you're my son, and I love you. But if there is something you're hiding from me, something serious, I want to know about it. As long as you live under my roof, I don't want any under-handed sneaking around. I might not like what you're hiding, but I'd rather know about it than wonder and worry myself gray."

"Okay," he took a deep breath, "Dad, I imprinted on Harry."

When Billy didn't say anything, he risked a look at his father's face and caught it completely frozen in disbelief.

"Dad?"

Billy started, and ran his hand down his face, keeping it over his mouth. Jacob squirmed in his seat, not liking that look. It brought back childhood memories of his dad's reaction when he tried to explain to him how he'd broken his favorite fishing rod.

"Um..." It was getting very uncomfortable in the car, and he felt warmer than usual. Sweat trickled down the dip in his collarbone and down his chest. He rubbed his forehead, sweeping it back into his hair.

"Are you sure?"

He couldn't do anything but nod, but that satisfied Billy.

Billy shook his head, "I…wow. How long ago?"

"Today."

"What?!"

He cringed, "A couple of hours ago! I imprinted on him after the hair smelling thing, but that's because I knew I cared about him beforehand."

Billy groaned and covered his face with both his hands this time, "Oh my god…this is not going to go over well with the Elders. You know that, right? You could be expelled from the Pack if everyone is upset by this and they don't want you around."

Jacob hadn't thought about that angle to the issue yet.

"Oh. Do you think they would do that to me?"

Billy shrugged, "Hell, I don't know anymore. Things are different these days, and everyone knows that you can't argue with an imprint, but I'm pretty sure some of the guys are going to be uncomfortable."

"Shit…"

They sat in the car without speaking, each lost in dreadful thoughts, until Billy's watch ticked out the new hour. They went inside and to their separate rooms with only a murmured 'goodnight'.

000

End chapter 39

I AM AWARE THAT THIS IS A HALF-UPDATE. Sorry, but having a life does have its down-side.


	40. Chapter 40

A/N: We have finally hit the 40 chapter mark! This story is officially middle-aged. No more night-clubs. And sorry for not updating for a while, but my brother is getting married and I have school shit and…you get the picture.

Chapter Forty

Harry tried to control himself, he really did.

But his hormones had other things in mind and the next morning he located the Black's house and climbed in through Jacob's bedroom window. The bed was empty, much to his disappointment.

Hearing the shower running, he crept down the hallway to it and eased the door open. Through the outline of the clear though fogged shower curtain, he deduced that it was Jacob by himself. It wouldn't be very good if he barged in there only to discover Jacob bathing his dad like the good son he was.

Confident that they were alone, he stepped fully inside and locked the door behind him. He saw Jacob start, and pull back the curtain to investigate. He blustered when he saw Harry standing there, and tried to cover himself. He still couldn't find anything to say when Harry unzipped his coat and dropped in on the floor.

Harry unceremoniously stripped down and stepped inside, hogging the water. Jacob was still trying to be modest, so he assured him, "Jacob, I spent the most awkward years of my development naked with four other boys. A Twinkie is nothing I haven't seen before…although you're not quite a Twinkie, are you? You need the brown equivalent."

Jacob blushed to the roots of his hair, and Harry laughed and moved forward to kiss him, "Oh, don't be embarrassed. You're beautiful."

He moved to kiss him again, but someone pounded on the door and started to yell about how there were no locked doors in his house. Harry froze, and Jacob groaned.

Shutting off the water, he yelled that he was coming while frantically gesturing at Harry to do something with himself, anything, as long as he was out of sight.

Harry grabbed his clothes and climbed inside the empty laundry hamper. He closed the lid just as Jacob found a towel and opened the door. His dad was there in his wheelchair, and looking _very _suspicious.

He crunched a mouthful of toast, chewed, and swallowed before asking, "Jacob, what have I told you about a locked door?"

"Um…it isn't good?"

"Exactly; Son, I have rules. You know what those rules are. This time it seems like an accident, so I'll let it go, but if I find another locked door you are in trouble."

"Yes sir!"

"Good. Now if you'll let me in, I need to piss. It _is _the morning, you know…" he grumbled, wheeling his way around Jacob.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't sure if Billy Black had the same nose his son did, but he sure hoped he didn't. There was only so much steam and shampoo could cover up.

And the laundry basket wasn't going to make a good impression on the father of his boyfriend. But Billy didn't notice him, and left with a nod and a smack to his son's kidneys. Jacob shrieked and clutched his lower back, yelling an insult after his dad.

Billy's laughter rumbled down the hall.

The door was closed, and Harry dared to peek out of the hamper. Jacob grinned at him and shook his head.

"Oh my god, that was close. How about I surprise you in _your _shower next time?"

Stepping out of the hamper, he peeled a dirty sock that was not his off of his calf, "I think that would be best. Now, where were we?"

Jacob just pushed him back into the shower.

~000~

After their shower escapade, Jacob smuggled Harry into his room and sent him home with the promise of coming over that afternoon when he was done working on some stuff for his dad and doing a patrol. Harry didn't like being away from him and could tell that Jacob didn't either.

But just because they were together now didn't mean that the rest of the world stopped working, or that they had time to just laze around and stare at each other all day.

He left and took a long walk in the woods, thinking about what he was going to do. Right now, his plan was to do nothing. He was just going to roll with the punches and hope he made it through the next few years.

One thing was for certain, though. He was going to tell Jacob the whole truth.

Something told him that Jacob wouldn't leave him, and if he wasn't going to get left then he might as well be honest.

Walk finished, he made some bread and checked on Deedee. The demon bird was all curled up into itself despite how warm the hutch was. Looking around, he spotted several mouse skeletons and shook his head. Even in the middle of the winter, the damn bird was a carnivore.

Satisfied that Bronwyn had no reason to be displeased, he went back inside and made cabbage soup for the fairies.

He felt overly domestic by the time he finished, but the glow of accomplishment took some of the indignity away.

Jacob rapped on the front door and barged in without waiting for Harry to come open it. Judging from what Harry had pulled that morning, it was more than justified. He held out a sack, "I got this for you."

"What is it?" Harry accepted the paper bag and unrolled the top, peeking inside, "Donuts!"

"Yep. I thought that we could eat them in bed. Those aren't just for you, you know," Jacob chided, reaching into the bag and pulling out a chocolate one. He bit into it and walked towards the stairs, "Come on. I want to lie down on something soft while I stuff my face."

"How did you know my room was upstairs?" Harry asked, following after snapping his fingers at one of the fairies to watch the soup, which was still cooking. He knew for sure now that Jacob couldn't see them. This made him feel heavy inside. He didn't like knowing that there were some things he could never share with Jacob.

Jacob was already in bed, shoes off and wiggling his socked feet. He patted the bed beside him, stuffing the rest of the donut into his mouth. Harry sat.

"It's cold in here."

"Yeah, the heating isn't what it should be," Harry fluffed up the pillows and relaxed against them. He chose a powder-coated donut for himself and bit into it. Powder drifted down with every bite to land on his collarbone and chest. "I think we should sit in bed every time we have something to discuss, or just want to hang out. It's super comfortable to do this."

"Agreed," Jacob rolled over and laid his head in Harry's lap. Harry smiled down at him around a mouthful of pastry and smoothed his hand over his short hair.

People who think of beds only in terms of sexual exercise or rest simply do not understand that a bed is the best of all places for a philosophical discussion, an argument, and if necessary a showdown. It was not by chance that so many kings of old administered justice from their beds, and even today there is something splendidly parliamentary about an assembly of concerned persons in a bed.

Harry decided that it was official as he worked on his third donut. He loved to be in bed with Jacob, who was delightfully warm and quite made up for the discrepancies in heating.

It was the comfort and the sugar that gave him the boldness to speak.

"Babe?"

"Hm?" Jacob hummed, opening his eyes.

"I have something to tell you, about me. If you think that you know enough about me, say so and I won't tell you. It's not…_super _important. It just contributed to who I am and a lot of what I've done."

Jake smirked, "I think it sounds pretty damn important if it shaped that much of you. And I don't think I'll ever know enough about you, so chatter away. What deep dark secret have you kept from me this time?"

"I'm…well, you're not the only abnormal one in this relationship."

He raised his eyebrows, "I know that. That's probably one of the reasons we get along so well. You get that part of me that isn't quite right, and I think there's a part of you that is like that too."

Harry forced a smile before continuing, "I can do stuff, stuff usually considered to be impossible."

"What, like fly or something?"

He nodded, "Yes, I can fly with the assistance of a broom or levitate with a spell. I'm a wizard, Jake. I was born this way."

Jacob sat up, eyes staring. He took in the socks, the denims, and the flannel shirt decorated with donut. He frowned, "Wait, what?"

"I can do magic. It's a gene that is usually passed down through your parents but can also spontaneously burst into being. Like, my friend Hermione doesn't have any magical relatives but she was born a witch. Both of my parents had magic, and so I have magic," he made a frustrated noise, "Does any of this make sense?"

"Yeah, sort of; it just isn't sinking in right. Give me some time. Keep talking, though. If you're a wizard, why didn't you use magic before?"

"Well, you know how I'm a fugitive from the police? I'm also a fugitive from the magical equivalent. Using magic creates a resonance, because every person's magical signature works the same way as fingerprints, and I know for a fact that they have alarms set up that will go off if I so much as generate a puff of wind. I can't do any magic, or they'll be here in a matter of hours, maybe minutes."

Jake reached into the bag and pulled out another donut, "Shit. That has to suck."

Harry nodded, "It does. I had to learn how to live without magic all over again. See, I grew up with my aunt and uncle, who were non-magical (or Muggles, as we call them), because my parents were murdered when I was a baby. My parents were murdered by this mass-murderer dictator-type guy named Voldemort. I guess you could call him a dark wizard, though he must have had his moments because of how many followers he had. Voldemort believed that anyone who wasn't magical should die, and my parents were on the frontlines of those in opposition to him. So he killed them. But when he tried to kill me, something went wrong. I didn't die.

"Everybody is immensely chuffed to know that I've survived, and that Voldemort somehow died in the process of trying to knock me off. I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle, and the war ended." Harry picked at his hands, "I didn't find out I was a wizard until I was 11 years old, when I was sent to a school for magical training. When I went, I was told that, because I survived a killing curse, I was known as the Boy-Who-Lived in the papers."

Jacob choked on his donut, "That is the stupidest title I have ever heard."

"Yeah, it is rather ridiculous. Anyway, it came about that Voldemort didn't actually die, he just went into a sort of hibernation. It's complicated. Whatever. The point is that I had to fight him loads of times before I finally killed him for good last year. Unfortunately, at that point he was in disguise as a civilian. They caught me killing him on tape and everything. It looked bad, really bad. Even now, most people still don't believe that he's dead. They just think I went psycho and started shooting people."

"Holy shit."

"I know. And the thing is, the whole war was so fucking stupid. It all came about because of boredom. Boredom and stupidity and ethnocentrism are three of the world's greatest evils when combined."

Jacob pulled him down to recline once more, "I'm kind of overwhelmed right now. My brain doesn't believe what its hearing, but my heart believes you and that's good enough for me. That sounds like a shitty thing to live through, but if it made you the man you are now, then I'm grateful for it."

Harry laid his head on Jacob's chest and just lay there with him, watching the blue winter sunlight through the window.

"Hermione is a witch?"

He grinned, "You have _no idea."_

~000~

End chapter 40

Hey, stuff happened. Yay?


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter Forty-One

Winter break was over, and Harry was back in a dress teaching youngsters how to appreciate literature.

He would much rather have been wearing trousers, or nothing at all and rolling about in bed with Jacob. That was what he'd spent the past couple of days doing and wasn't very pleased to know that those days were over, at least until Spring Break.

With a sigh, he assigned them a subject for their essay and dismissed the class.

Reaching into his bag, he felt blindly for the block of chocolate he'd been nibbling on that day. It was missing. Frowning, he opened the bag all the way and investigated its contents. The chocolate was definitely gone.

"What the hell…Jacob!"

That little rat! He probably stole it when he stayed after class to sneak a quick kiss before his next period.

Harry fumed for a while before realizing that this gave him the perfect excuse to take Jacob out for lunch Saturday. He was just packing up his things to go when Martin sauntered into his classroom and closed the door behind him. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the twin cups of coffee in his friend's hands.

Martin meant to have a chat with him.

"Hello, Martin."

"Hello," he sat in Harry's chair and handed him the cup of coffee. Harry blew on it and ventured a sip. It was too hot and burned his lip, but he drank it down anyway, "I want to speak to you about something."

"Yes, I gathered that."

Martin dithered for a moment longer before saying bluntly, "I know something happened between you and Jacob."

Harry choked on his spit.

"And I want to warn you to tone it down. I know it's hard to hide it when you have something like that going on, but I just wanted you to know that I can tell. You don't want somebody else to notice, somebody who isn't your friend."

Feeling cold with dread, he nodded, "I understand. Thanks for looking out for me."

Martin smirked, "Somebody has got to watch out for you, kid," he took a sip of coffee and casually asked, "So, did you fuck him?"

He almost dropped his coffee, "You dirty old man! I'm not telling you!"

The priest laughed at him and swiveled the chair around in a lazy swirl, "Oh come on, don't be a prude. I want details. If you're going to have an illicit affair that I know about, I damned well deserve some information!"

He sighed, "Fine! Yes, I slept with him. Sort of…and he isn't quite eighteen yet. I feel a bit bad about that."

Martin chewed his lip, soaking that in. A few moments later he said, "I suggest that you do penance of some kind, to make up for this grave sin."

Harry laughed and sarcastically replied, "What, walk around with a giant red 'A' on the back of my raincoat until Jacob graduates?"

"That would be acceptable in my book," Martin nodded, dodging a smack Harry aimed at his head, "Easy there. You'll get your breasts in a twist."

"Asshole," Harry chugged the rest of his coffee and pointed to his bag, "besides, dating Jacob has its downsides. He is always hungry, and I do mean _always, _so he's been eating me out of house and home. Just now he stole my private stash of chocolate."

Martin tsked, "Naughty. That wasn't very nice."

Harry stuck out his lip, "No, it wasn't. Anyway, I love the chat, but it gets dark quick and I've got to go reassure the terror that is Leah that I am still her friend."

"Ah. Have fun with that. Might I be able to join you?"

He shrugged, "Fine by me."

As they walked out of the school and down the steps, alone, Martin said, "I still can't believe that you couldn't wait until the boy was eighteen to start this stupidity."

"Shut up," Harry hissed.

~000~

Harry took Jacob out to lunch on a Saturday.

Once seated, Jacob suspiciously asked, "Do I look as if I needed feeding?"

Harry scowled, "You pinched a block of chocolate off my desk yesterday. I thought you must be hungry."

Jacob squirmed sheepishly and fiddled with his menu, "Yeah, sorry about that. But you know how it is. I see food, I eat it. I don't even think about it anymore. It's gotten worse the past week or so too, because of the…" he blushed, "you know."

"What, having sex?"

He turned even redder and furiously whispered, "Oh my god, can you please not be so casual about it in public?"

Harry grinned, "I don't know. What do I get if I behave myself?"

Jacob drank half his ice water in one go, "I'm not answering that. I can see that you are determined to be suggestive, and I won't rise to that."

Their food arrived, and for a while they were occupied with eating. Harry paused several times to take in the sight of Jacob practically inhaling his food. It wasn't the most romantic of sights, but it was endearing.

He noticed that he looked a bit down behind the embarrassment. Harry smirked at Jacob over lunch once the chomping died down and asked, "Why do you look like an unhappy rabbit?"

Jacob moodily ate some of his fries and replied, "I got my report card today. I've really fallen behind in school, spending time with you…in bed."

Harry smiled at the thought and rubbed his foot under the table, "Oh love, I wish you'd said something. I can help you get your feet back under you. That is, if you'd like."

Jacob lit up and agreed.

That night, not a whole lot of studying happened.

~000~

End chapter 41

Yes, it is half-update. I have another important test tomorrow. Wish me luck! And review!


	42. Chapter 42

A/N: Sorry for being gone for a little while. I was really unmotivated and then I got busy. Two of my worst enemies to writing.

Chapter Forty-Two

Billy slammed down the envelope that held Jacob's report card. His face was thunder personified, and Jacob felt his shoulders hike up with his ears. Oh shit. This was going to get really, really bad. If there was one thing his dad had always been particular about, it was that he did well in whatever he was involved in. Mediocre was never allowable, and that was probably why his sisters were the only other kids on the Reservation to have gone to college. None of the other kids had Billy Black standing at their back with that look on his face.

"Jacob, I have tried to be gracious these past few weeks because of your new Imprint. I've let you stay out late when not on patrol, and allowed you to skip work to spend time with Harry. But this is unacceptable. You are only allowed those kinds of privileges if you can maintain your grades. You haven't done that, and on top of that you've been violating your curfew when I _know_ you aren't out with the Pack because Sam would've said something, so I have no choice but to-"

Jacob cringed and squeezed his eyes shut-

"-ground you until your grades go back up."

He groaned, "But dad, my birthday is in two days!"

Billy appeared unconcerned by this, "And? We didn't have more than a cake planned, and you can still have it. I don't see what that has to do with anything."

Jacob gave his dad a _look. _He was being deliberately oblivious, and no one was more annoying than his dad when he was ignoring the obvious. He decided to get revenge by being blunt.

"Dad, Harry and I are going to have sex on my birthday. You know, to celebrate my being legal…?"

Billy took a drink of coffee and picked the paper back up, not acknowledging him. Jacob opened his mouth, shut it, and slammed his hands down on the table. He pushed back his chair and stormed out of the room, steaming mad. Why was his dad such a fucking bastard! It was just a stupid report card. He could fix his grades easily if he could just stop thinking about Harry all the time.

…somehow he didn't think that was as easy as he tried to fool himself.

He went to the shop and banged around finishing up work since he didn't have any homework. Once he was done, he almost picked up the phone to call Harry before remembering that he was grounded. If he had a normal dad, he could get away with sneaking calls to Harry behind Billy's back. But his dad wasn't normal. He went through the records of their phone bill whenever one of his kids was grounded and personally ensured that no 'fun' phone calls had been made. He did the same with the mileage on the car, so you couldn't drive off in the night without him finding out.

Kicking the office chair, he sank into it. His hands were greasy and he needed to wash his hair. That was all he had to look forward to tonight: washing his hair.

"Damn it!"

~000~

"What do you mean you can't come over on your birthday?"

Jacob had to admit, trying to talk to Harry during school was kind of difficult. It was just so…so…distracting! The boobs were the worst. They were just there; these huge soft-looking things that he now knew were fake, strapped to his boyfriend's chest. And then there was the mascara, and the lipstick…

This combined with Harry's husky man voice was playing tricks with his mind. It was quite psychedelic, actually.

He shrugged, getting it back together, "My dad grounded me. There's nothing I can do. I talked to him, and he said the only concession I get is a single phone call that can last as long as I want."

Harry frowned and sighed, looking out the window. It was snowing, again, and the melting flakes in contact with the heated window distorted the image outside until it looked like one of Monet's watercolors. Keeping his eyes fixed on it until he knew he was calmer, he smiled at Jacob, and said, "I'll just have to find a way to come to you, then. And you had better call me and not someone else, or I will be extremely pissed off."

Jacob smirked and leaned forward to kiss him goodbye. But out of the corner of his eye he saw someone pause outside the door to the classroom and throw them a funny look. He stepped back quickly, returning the space of decency between them.

Harry swallowed. He'd noticed too. Sometimes they forgot just how precarious their position was, but things like this reminded him sharply that he was walking on a forbidden path. The Pack barely accepted him, and he shared his thoughts with them!

It was uncomfortable, but then Harry nodded to him, saying, "You should go. You have a, um, a class."

"Yeah…"

"Bye," Harry whispered to his back, and he almost died from wanting.

Wanting described his day-to-day state now. He wanted to be with Harry, he wanted to belong, he wanted to be an adult so they wouldn't have to worry about Harry getting arrested, and he wanted people to accept them! And most of all, he wanted to just go somewhere far away with Harry to stay with him forever undisturbed. Maybe they'd let Leah and some of Harry's friends visit from time to time, but for the most part he just wanted it to be the two of them.

But that was too much to hope for, and he knew it.

~000~

He didn't feel any different the day of his birthday. He didn't realize that he'd been expecting anything at all until he felt disappointed. Everything was the same as usual. He'd probably grown another inch overnight, judging from the soreness in his ribs and knees.

He pissed, showered, took care of Billy, and made breakfast for both of them. He was just clearing the dishes when Billy pulled a package out of his robe and slid it across the table. He was smirking, which meant that it was either awesome, a prank, or empty.

His dad had a cruel sense of humor on holidays.

Tearing the paper off, he raised his eyebrows at the gift. It was a book. Specifically, a guide to safe gay sex; he groaned and shoved it away.

"_Daaaad!"_

Billy shrugged innocently, "I don't see what you're so upset about. Your decision to tell me your birthday plans obviously meant that you were comfortable talking about this with me. And you are my son, eighteen or not, and I want you to be safe."

Jacob was pretty sure his face was ready to explode from all the blood in it.

After the awkward breakfast incident, he went to school and fended off the few people that knew it was his birthday, swearing them to secrecy. He hated the facetiousness of people who didn't actually know you telling you 'happy birthday' just because some jackass filled them in.

He barely made it through his classes, none of which were with Harry. He couldn't wait to call Harry tonight. Sure, it didn't hold a candle to face-to-face, but it was better than writing him a letter (which he wouldn't put beyond Billy).

Arriving home, he attacked the phone and locked himself in his room. Dialing Harry's number, he lay in bed and got comfortable. Harry didn't pick up.

He was horrified for all of five seconds before he realized that Harry probably just wasn't back from work yet. He called every five minutes just in case, keeping track with his alarm clock. While he waited, he dug under his bed and pulled out all the junk that'd collected there. He found old underwear from when he was little, with Spiderman or Wolverines on them. There was also his favorite toy of all time, a red fire truck the size of his forearm that was now pitifully broken and chewed on. Turning it over in his hands, he smiled, remembering.

And then he spotted a stick-figure picture he'd drawn of him standing next to his sisters and Bella. He crumpled it up into a ball and stuffed it in his trash can. Stupid bitch.

She was getting married in a few months now, once spring rolled around. She hadn't approached him about anything to do with the wedding for a while, but he wasn't going to get complacent. He knew how passive-aggressive she was.

The phone rang and he picked up before the first ring could die away.

"Hello?"

"Jake? Hey, sorry for missing…eighteen calls from you. Jesus you're impatient. I had to walk home through some serious snow you know, and that tends to take me a while."

He started sorted through his things while replying, "You know I would gladly have given you a ride home if I was allowed."

They talked until Jacob had to make dinner, and Jacob called him back immediately afterward, ignoring his dad's snide comment about hanging up making it two phone calls and not one like they'd agreed on.

Lying in bed with nothing to do but wait until it turned midnight and his birthday was over, he realized that nobody had had a chance to sing the birthday song to him yet. He smiled, a touch of the evil creeping into it.

"Oh, Harry?"

"Hm?"

"You haven't sung me the happy birthday song yet."

Harry groaned, "Oh for god's sakes, you know I hate singing! And I despise all that kid stuff like singing and balloons and shit."

He laughed, "Aw, come on. We have to celebrate over the phone, and all I want is a little song. Don't you love me enough to do that?"

He could hear Harry hesitate, and then the expelling of breath that showed he'd given in.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you dear Jake…"

He smirked through the entire song, and added on, "and many happy returns!" when Harry was done. Harry responded sarcastically with,

"If you aren't happy now, please go to the nursery and complain there. I'm sure they'll be able to meet all of your needs, along with the other infants."

Laughing, he checked the time. It was midnight. He had to hang up, or Billy would see that he'd violated their agreement and ground him further than he already was. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he said, "Hey, I have to hang up now…"

"Alright. Billy's in bed, right?"

Eyebrows together, he responded affirmatively, wondering where Harry was going with this.

"Good. I'll be over in less than half an hour. Leave your window unlocked. Love you!"

And before he could say anything, Harry hung up. Jacob stared at the ceiling, speechless, and then a big grin broke out over his face.

But Harry wasn't there in half an hour. Two hours passed without a sign of him, and he began to feel frantic. What if he'd slipped and broken his leg on the ice? What if he was freezing to death right now, while he sat here in his room doing nothing?

At three in the morning, on the dot, there was a tap on his window. Opening it, he saw Harry standing there shivering. He helped Harry crawl inside, holding his questions until he could make sure that he was okay. Harry was wearing a pair of thermal jeans (which are really just jeans with flannel lining), two sweaters, one of which was bright emerald green, and a leather jacket that had seen better days. He swiped the snow out of his hair and wrapped his arms around Jacob's neck, craning for a kiss.

He pulled away rather abruptly, and Jacob only had to glimpse his face to know that something was really wrong.

"Hermione screwed up."

"What?"

"She wasn't careful coming back after being up in England with Neville, and they've tracked her here. I have to go, and soon, but I wanted to come say goodbye in person first."

Jacob felt numb, and he consciously knew that he was going into shock. He was going to embrace Harry before he blurted out the situation. His hands were still poised in the air, hovering over Harry like wings. He repeated what Harry said in a whisper to confirm that he'd heard right, and Harry nodded.

He started to hyperventilate.

Harry pulled him to his chest and said over and over again, "Poor little Jake, life is damned hard, life is just so damned hard…"

Harry didn't know what else to say, so he kept repeating himself until jacob's breathing started to sound half-normal again. He knew that every second he stayed here was another second that the Aurors had to pinpoint his location, but he couldn't be bothered with that. Jacob was more important.

He might've stayed there all night if Hermione hadn't chosen then to stumble through the window. She tore him away from Jacob and dragged him back towards the window, frantically whispering that the Aurors were at the house and that she had his things shrunk and packed in her purse.

Harry didn't get a chance to say goodbye before she activated their hastily-made DIY Portkey.

Alone in his room, Jacob felt like he'd just been murdered inside. With eyes expressionless, he sat on his tumbled bed, spreading his swollen feet, scratching his head with his fingernails, and began to moan.

He barely noticed when the men he would assume later were Aurors, magical police, appeared in his bedroom. He didn't react when one of them said,

"Whoa, look at this guy here! He's a regular giant! Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum!"

They left when they realized he wasn't going to say anything, still angrily complaining about having missed catching the infamous Harry Potter yet again.

Jacob didn't sleep that night, but merely stared at the phone and wondered what the hell just happened.

~000~

Hermione was talking to him, but he wasn't really listening.

"I mean, exile is a bad habit. But this whole thing, well, it was all rather physical, or neurotic, and I know perfectly well that you, if caught and condemned and led away to be shot, would behave like you did to Umbridge during the final zenith of her madness: you'd look about you with insolent composure, and spit into the imbecile's eyes just for the fun of it. It's almost too bad we didn't get caught. I'd like to see you stick it to the Minister again."

He grunted, not turning his eyes away from the mirror. They were in a motel, a Muggle one, and he was trying not to think.

Now that he considered it, it was kind of shocking that this hadn't happened before. An accidental explosion of magic was long over-due.

Harry was filled up with magic, like every witch or wizard, until every pore and tissue was bloated with the stuff. And normally, that was when it would start leaking, slowly at first, arcing to ground in little bursts, but building up to a great charge of occult potentiality. It could do all kinds of damage.

He had no recollection of how he spent the night. When morning came around, he stepped outside mechanically for the first cigarette of the day.

They were in France, and there wasn't a cloud in the wistful sky. He was reminded that such sad, sunny mornings made him believe that there was salvation for him despite the frozen mud and horror of his heart.

He hoped Jacob was alright, and didn't do anything bloody stupid while he was figuring things out.

~000~

End chapter 42

And the inevitable Potter Bad-Luck has dropped.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter Forty-Three

School was a bleak expanse of time and misery to be experienced come Monday morning. He didn't want to get out of bed, and for once Billy had to actually pour cold water on him to get him up. He made breakfast on auto-pilot and didn't touch a bite of his despite the ravening beast of hunger sitting in his stomach.

As a consequence of skipping breakfast, he had a dizzy fit in his second period and had to be sent to the nurse's office.

Instead of going, he stumbled down the halls and out the janitor's exit, by the dumpsters. He threw up on the snowdrift next to it, and then sank into the nearest clean one, feeling the cold of the snow sinking through his thin sweater.

The sun was out today, peeking through slits in the cloud cover. He stretched out on his back and watched it. One could get drunk on the sun on an empty stomach.

He wondered how Harry was faring.

~000~

After eating breakfast at a local café, in silence, they went on a walk. He wasn't sure where in France they were, and he didn't care. He didn't care about anything at all.

Hermione was nervous. He could tell because she was twisting her hair into little knots and then chewing on it. What he wanted to do was yell at her to just come out and tell him whatever was going on, to demand an explanation for her sudden presence at the Reservation, but he knew better than to rush her. She was like a sleepwalker when she was stressed- trying to wake them up just didn't do any good.

To buy her some time, he pointed out the ruins of an old castle they were passing by.

"I wonder what happened there."

She snorted, "Cleaning women are devilish creatures determined to destroy anything delicate or valuable. They are responsible for the dilapidated state of famous ruins, not invading armies. One of them probably went to work on it with a broom and now look at it."

He barked a quick laugh, turning his head to look down at her with surprise. The joke had broken her out of her stress tizzy, and she started to talk.

"I am so sorry, Harry. I never meant to lead them to you, to destroy the life you were making there. I just didn't bloody _think _before I…Can you ever forgive me? It's okay if you can't, or if you won't be able to for a while. Just…just tell me to go if you want me to, and I will."

Shaking his head, he replied, "No, don't go. I'm upset, obviously, but I think we can fix this. You're my oldest living friend- I would never throw you away for something like this. Sure, I feel like shit and kind of want to kill you right now, but we'll work through this."

Hermione seemed relieved to hear it, and he looked up at the sun for a moment. After a moment she asked,

"So, things with you and Jacob seemed to have developed while I was gone. What's going on…?"

"We love each other."

"Oh."

He put his hands in his pockets and thought about Jacob. Looking back, now that he was out of that environment, everything that'd happened seemed lit with the gloom of insanity. Whatever possessed him to dress like a woman, to teach Muggles about good books, to date one of his students? It was all so incomprehensible, except maybe the part about Jacob. The circumstances were mad, yes, but he knew that it would've happened no matter where he was.

"Shit."

He glanced over at her and saw that she was pulling on her lower lip, looking utterly miserable. With a sigh, he prodded her in the shoulder until she stopped pulling and looked at him.

"Calm down. I'll find my way back."

"But there are Aurors! And the Muggles, too, I suppose. What are you going to do if you get caught?"

"I learned a long time ago that if you ignore the rules other people try to give you, they will eventually re-write their rules so that they don't apply to you," he lit another cigarette, "So I think it's about time to confront the British government about their false accusations against my person."

"_Have you lost your mind?"_

"No, I think I've found it. When I go back to Jake, it's going to be as a free man, not a goddamned fugitive. And you're going to help me. What's Neville doing these days? Is he too busy to help?"

She groaned and used her fingertips to hold the bridge of her nose, "He's busy. That's kind of why I came back to stay with you. He, uh, he wants us to try seeing other people for a while. He said he thought I was 'strong enough' without him now, whatever that means," she made a frustrated noise, "I mean, what does that even mean?"

Harry chose not to say anything, shrugging, "That's alright. We'll do it without him. We can manage. First, we need to go to Brazil."

"Why Brazil?"

They were back at the motel, and he dug the key out of his pocket and stuck it in the lock, "Because Brazil really ought to finally pay me that hush money they owe me for my silence about what, exactly, I saw in their country when I passed through there. You know, trying to find Death Eaters, the dirty bastard. I seem to recall seeing quite a bit of illegal creature breeding for potions ingredients, fraud to other countries, and human slave trade."

Hermione looked shocked, and opened her mouth to no doubt demand to know why he hadn't said anything. He spoke before she could.

"I kept silent, but made sure to take pictures. Those pictures are in my second account in Switzerland, but I can get them mailed to me."

Her lips were one thin line. He sighed,

"Fine! We can begin a campaign against them also through my network of allies, if I still have any. But right now I need money."

"Why do you need money?"

He smiled, "Because money is what greases the wheels of the world, and the Ministry is especially susceptible to it. If I promise to donate enough money to whatever they want, whether publicly or in private, I'm sure they'll swallow their pride and say that it was all a mistake."

"You _do _remember that they said you were dead, right?"

Laughing, he replied, "But Hermione, I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. You can't kill me."

~000~

End chapter 43

Sorry for the huge gap since I last updated, but things won't get better. I have classes all year 'round, and I am just…I just have STUFF TO DO. Sorry.


	44. Chapter 44

A/N: Okay, so I haven't updated lately. This is for a number of reasons; if you want to know, just ask in a review or PM and I'll tell you. Thanks

Oh, and for those who were unfortunately offended by Brazil being the 'axis of evil' in this story, it was nothing personal. It was a randomized choice. Sorry!

Chapter Forty-Four

The Muggle transportation system was really rather ridiculous. First you waited, then you rushed around a lot, but then you discovered that the reason you'd rushed was so that you'd have more time to wait.

Harry dug his palms into his eye sockets and put his head between his knees. Their flight to Brazil was delayed and they'd been sweating in their seats for three hours. Hermione was reading Harry's copy of 'I, Claudius' and sipping the ice water she'd obtained from the steward.

He wished he could be so relaxed, but he'd never enjoyed waiting.

The plane rumbled, and he reigned in his temper quickly. Whoops! His magic was still roiling thick under his skin, hissing in his ears and making his vision go funny from time to time. He wondered if normal wizards knew that not using magic for prolonged periods of time resulted in hallucinations.

A small bird materialized between his palms and chirruped. Hermione jerked and looked down to see it in his hands.

"Where did you get that?" She whispered, adjusting the angle of her book to block the passengers across the aisle from spotting it.

"I don't know!" he whispered back, "How do I get rid of it…" he trailed off when the bird performed a backward-growth. Its shell grew around it, made of some solid opalescent glass. When it completely covered the bird, he cautiously tapped it with his fingernail. It made a 'tink' noise.

"Well…" Hermione couldn't think of anything else to say and just went back to her book, missing the pearls that popped out of thin air to cover the surface of the egg. Harry cradled it in his hands, feeling warmth seeping through it.

Maybe it was a good thing he was confronting his accusers. Who knew what else would happen the next time his magic surged.

A voice came over the loud speaker and the light for them to fasten their seatbelts turned on. They were taking off at last, now that the engine problem in the flight in front of them had mysteriously disappeared.

~000~

The Magical government of Brazil wasn't hard to get to. Harry only had to stare very hard at the Aurors at the door while sticking a concealed knife against their groins to be admitted into the intimate chambers of their Prime Minister, Lawrence M.

No one knew what the 'M' stood for, but no one asked.

Because of this access, Harry was able to greet the Prime Minister with his feet on the man's desk first thing in the morning, the crumbs of his morning pastry still littering his shirt. Lawrence jerked when he saw him, coat half-off his arms. Harry smiled, hard and bitter like winter.

"Good morning, Mr. M."

"Potter?"

Harry removed his feet from the desk and slid to his feet in a slick move that he knew would set the man on edge, "Surprised to see me? You shouldn't be. We're a little overdue for a private _tête-à-tête_."

He coughed, "I, uh, I was under the impression that you were dead."

Harry laughed and made sure to mimic Malfoy's most annoyingly conceited smile, "Oh, _please. _Me? Dead? That is never going to happen. Or did you miss the memo regarding Nicholas Flamel conferring the honor of the sorcerer's stone upon me?"

Lawrence turned white, not seeming to catch Harry's bluff.

Harry leaned forward, "I've got a bone to pick with you."

Lawrence sank into the nearest chair, all the pride gone from his posture, "What do you want?"

"Easy: money."

"How much?"

Harry shrugged a shoulder, "How much do you think will keep me quiet about the human trafficking, among other things?" he pulled a manila folder out of his briefcase and laid it on the polished desk. A prod of his finger sent it sliding across the surface into the Prime Minister's hands.

They were silent as Lawrence unwound the string and tilted it so the pictures fell out into his hands. He flipped through them, lips parted. How was this happening? Did he wake up in Hell this morning?

"Oh god…"

The pictures slipped out of lax fingers and fluttered to the ground.

Harry drank the coffee that'd come with the pastry and dug into his front pockets for his cigarettes while the Prime Minister tried to wrap his mind around what Harry had insinuated. Harry began to pack his cigarettes, humming to himself. The egg from the plane was tucked into his pocket and it hummed along with him. On a whim, he took it out of his pocket and set it on the desk.

Lawrence stared blankly out the window at his private patio garden, thinking about all those long nights when he lay awake in bed wondering what he'd do if anyone ever caught onto his private cash flow and how he got it. Public office didn't pay a lot, and slowly but surely trafficking of anything that was in demand seemed less like a crime and more like a solution to his debts. Gambling is a habit that rarely gives back even a percentage of what it takes.

He put his head in his hands and started to cry.

When Harry left his office several hours later, it was with 200 million pounds in his possession. Lawrence didn't know that Harry had killed his cohorts in the trafficking business the night before and erased all records of the trafficking itself. If everything went like he thought it would, the entire ant hill of depravity would implode in a matter of days. But just in case things didn't go according to plan, he'd be back to check on it next week.

Hermione was waiting for him in their hotel room, having a bath. He sat on the rim and showed her the receipt.

"You really did it."

"Yes. Now, how soon do you want to confront the Ministry? I know this is stressful for you too, so if you think we should just take it easy this next week, we will."

She sighed and looked down, thinking about it. She picked at one of the lemon slices in her bath water, peeling the rind and dissecting the center.

"I think…I think we should confront them. But tomorrow, not tonight; I just want this over with."

He nodded. "That sounds like a plan. Now, you stay here and I will go out and deal with the assassin the Minister sent for me."

She gasped and straightened, "What?"

He opened the door without answering and seized the man on the other side by the collar. Gripping tight, he whirled them and smashed the man's head against the doorframe. Blood spurted from the cracks in his skin, and Harry bashed his head against it again. More blood gushed out, dribbling down his face and soaking Harry's white shirt.

Hermione screamed and cowered in her bath, knowing full well that she was helpless without weapon or wand. Her eyes darted around the room searching for a substitute. They landed on the bottle of wine she'd been enjoying earlier.

The man seemed to recover for just long enough to elbow Harry in the stomach. Harry buckled with a groan, jetlag hitting him harder than the elbow. The man tried to take another strike at him, swaying from the head wounds, but Hermione stood and clubbed him over the head with her wine bottle. It smashed and he tottered for a breathless moment before toppling into the bathtub. Blood spread out in the warm lemony water. She reached down and checked his pulse. It wasn't there.

Hermione hurriedly stepped out of the bathtub when she realized that she was standing in more blood than water and squatted by Harry on the shard-covered floor. Her feet were getting cut by the remains of the bottle, but she was too concerned to notice much right then. Blood mixed with wine and bathwater that'd sloshed over the rim of the tub.

"Harry? Honey, are you alright?" she tipped up his chin and he smiled blearily.

"M'Fine. Just winded; wasn't expecting that. I thought he was an amateur."

"Well, maybe he just got lucky," She smiled, though it was strained. She didn't like thinking about what else could happen if someone got a lucky shot at Harry. It was times like this that reminded her that, hero or not, Harry was still very much human. And humans have weaknesses. No human can be completely on guard at all times or win every battle life presents them with.

He laid his head against her bare thigh and tried to breathe.

She petted his hair and tried not to feel awkward about being naked and this close to her childhood friend.

~000~

End chapter 44

And the nakedness theme has returned. It's been a while ;)


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter Forty-Five

"Please?"

Jacob sighed and looked down at the swirl of cream in his coffee. Now he felt guilty, even though he hadn't done anything wrong and it was completely within his rights to refuse to be a part of Bella's wedding. But when Charlie Swan asked him out for lunch, he didn't expect the guy to start begging him to give into her. According to Charlie, she was getting a little bridezilla and he thought things might cool down if Jacob was around.

"I just…I know she's giving you a hard time, but she'll give me one too. I will probably just be more wood on the fire," he took a sip, still avoiding eye contact with Charlie. Charlie sighed.

"Well, if you really, really want me to, I guess I could."

What else was he going to do with himself for the next…whenever Harry came back? He had graduation in the spring, and he was keeping his grades up and doing his pack duties, but extra activity wouldn't hurt. It would cut back on the time he didn't have anything to do in, when he automatically started thinking about Harry. He couldn't help it; he just missed him so goddamn_ much_.

He wondered what he was doing, if he missed him as much as he did, and if he'd found someone new. He prayed every night to anyone who was listening that the last wondering would never happen, but he wasn't stupid. Harry was human, and a 21-year-old man. He couldn't be expected to wait for Jacob forever, especially if he couldn't safely return for years to come.

There were silk flowers on the windowsill beside him, and he scowled at them. Their false life in the dead of winter made him feel bitter for some reason.

"Jake?"

He turned to Charlie, "Hm?"

"Are you alright? You seem out of it."

He forced a smile, "I'm okay, just tired. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

Charlie nodded, "Take care of yourself. And I'll see you on Thursday night? Bella wants help assembling church decorations."

"Sure, whatever, I'll be there."

He chuckled and laid down some cash for their waitress, working his way out of the booth, "Take care, Jake. You're a good kid."

"Thanks."

He was left alone with his coffee and the false flowers. Slumping, he dug out his math homework from his backpack and tried to focus on Algebra. Harry crept into the equations somehow, and he found himself wondering if Harry was infinitely undefined or just an imaginary number.

~000~

Harry picked at the scabs on his knee. Hermione kept trying to make him stop but he would slap her interfering hands away every time she tried to intervene. He couldn't help it! He'd always picked at his scabs and he didn't mean to stop now, grown man or not.

She nudged him, glaring, and he stuck out his tongue.

"Biff off!"

She giggled, "What are you, a 1920s dandy? Nobody talks like that!"

"Oh, shut up and stop bothering me. I am trying to concentrate on this bit here," his finger slipped and he dug his thumbnail into the fleshy healing part under what remained of the scab, "Ow! Shit! Look at what you made me do!"

Budging him in the ribs, she turned to peek out the window. They were taking a flight to England, and her stomach as all in knots. She wasn't the one directly confronting the Ministry, but it felt like her problem too. Harry represented a lot of what she'd fought for and she wondered how the Wizarding public was going to handle The Truth.

People generally don't take kindly to The Truth. They like their information to stay solid and unquestionable. Well, with the exception of conspiracy theorists, but even if their conspiracies were proven right they would still question them.

The sudden revelation that Voldemort was dead for good and that his followers were nothing but a straggling shadow of what they were before, that Harry Potter was not a psychotic freak (well, maybe a little) but a man that had done what he had to do for the greater good of the people might come as more than a shock to them.

She chewed her lip. How would they react to the so-called terrorism against the Ministry being driven by the fact that half the Ministry's staff was working for the Dark Lord at the time they bombed it? Granted, they had time for subtler methods of apprehending the Death Eaters now, but back then there was no time. It was like trying to stop a dam from collapsing. You could only put your fingers in so many holes at once, and some water was bound to trickle through.

There was no more time to think about this. Their plane was landing, and they had a room at the Ritz-Carlton waiting for them. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, they would rob Gringott's.

~000~

It was awkward, sitting there with Bella's school friends assembling pew decorations. As the strongest one there, he was relegated the job of wiring the flowers and ribbon together into bows and creating hooks while he was at it. The hooks would attach them to the pews, so he made sure they were sturdy.

"So, uh, Jake, do you like school at the Reservation?"

He blinked at her, trying to remember her name, "its okay, I guess. How do you like _your_ school?"

She blushed, seeming to realize how inane her question had sounded, "It's good. I'm looking forward to graduating this spring. I'm going to Florida to celebrate with a bunch of kids from our group before going to college, hopefully, in the fall."

He grunted, "Exciting."

He knew he was being rude, but, truth be told, he didn't give a fuck about what they thought of him. The way they kept checking him out when they thought he wasn't looking was driving him crazy. How could he have gone so long without realizing how annoying most chicks were? Girls like Leah didn't bother him, and his sisters were pretty cool, but girls like this…they were a different animal. First they were late because they got lost on their way to Bella's house, so he ended up doing a good portion of the project by himself, and then they had the nerve to think it was funny. This was not acceptable! They were bridesmaids, and they had responsibilities. This lackadaisical attitude was so not okay with him, and he had to put his energy into the wire to keep from strangling one of them.

Another issue was how many of these decorations Bella wanted them to make. How big was this church, anyway, that they needed 500 pew decorations? What the fuck, people?

"Are you going to college?" the other bridesmaid asked. She wasn't as bad as the other one. She seemed to have a thoughtful streak at least, although she still giggled more than was pleasant.

"My dad wants me to, but if it was up to me I wouldn't."

She gasped, "But…but what about getting a good job?"

"We have our own business, and my dad is handicapped. I'm not comfortable leaving him alone for most of the year, and I don't need a degree to get employed. Our country still needs construction workers, in case you missed that, and it's unlikely that I'll ever even get to that point anyway. Our customer base is solid and growing now that the word is spreading about how low our prices are. I can't complain."

That seemed to silence her, and he went back to his wiring.

He smelled it before he saw it, and stiffened like a dog that's seen a ghost.

The door opened, and Bella came bustling into the kitchen with her hands full of grocery bags. Behind her was the female Vampire she hung around with a lot. He was pretty sure her name was Alice or Allison. Something like that.

She was just as stiff as he was, but she nodded politely anyway. That surprised him. Since when did leeches act like respectable people? He cautiously nodded back and she smiled thinly before helping Bella put away the groceries.

When they were done, they came over to see their progress.

"Oh my gosh, these are gorgeous!" Bella gushed, lifting one of the finished pieces and holding it up to the light, "Even better than I thought! Alice, isn't it so pretty with the flowers in the middle?"

"Yeah. I really like the way you guys twisted the ribbon into a double-bow, too."

"Oh, that was Jake's idea!" The annoying bridesmaid piped up, "He'd already started doing them like that before we got here, so we just kind of went with it. I'm glad you like it."

Alice swiveled her eyes to Jacob too fast for the human's to notice and flashed her eyebrows up. He smirked. Apparently she didn't know that he had a flair for decoration.

If he had to take a vote on his personality characteristics, he'd say that his love for decorating was the gayest thing about him. Everything else he was interested in was traditionally manly. Swimming, hiking, working on cars, and catching his own fish dinners were definitely pretty manly things to spend his time on.

Harry, on the other hand, had a much wider range of girlier habits. Hot scented baths were one of the things, and the baking thing…

Without knowing, he started to grin as he remembered snitching dough when Harry was baking bread and getting scolded for it.

"What's so funny?" Bella asked. They had barely spoken to each other since he showed up with Charlie and agreed to help her with whatever she wanted. That was a very uncomfortable meeting, and he squirmed just thinking about it.

"Harry," he blurted, immediately regretting it when her eyes narrowed. She hadn't made a very favorable opinion about Harry and was still oblivious to the depth of his relationship with him.

"I see."

She chatted with the bridesmaids, and he kept assembling the stupid pew decorations. After a moment Alice sat down across from him, as far as she could for both their sakes, and helped him.

Between them, now that no one was paying attention to them, they sped up the process and made as much in five minutes as the other girls could make in half an hour. By the time the other girls finished talking about why the color of the bridesmaid dresses was _so _awesome, they were done with all of the decorations and trying to avoid looking at each other.

"You guys are done?" Bella asked, eyes wide.

"Yep," Jake replied, getting up and going over to the fridge to pour himself a glass of milk. He needed his calcium.

Once he drained it, he said 'bye' in Bella's general direction and walked out the door to his truck. He had to make dinner for his dad, do homework, and try not to think about Harry when he took his shower. They tended to get very extended when he did and…

Oh god, he was fantasizing already. He started jogging towards the truck instead of just walking.

All around him, fresh snow was falling and covering the muddy remains of the last falling. It was a sign of a new beginnings, though he didn't know it.

~000~

End chapter 45

A/N: Random: If anyone out there wants to write an original story on here but just can't seem to think of something that hasn't been done before, TALK TO ME. I have too many ideas for my head to hold, and as far as I know none of them have been done before. I am more than happy to give them new homes.


	46. Chapter 46

A/N: Just some shameless self-advertising. I am starting to branch out some ideas that have been sitting in my brain for a while through one-shots. If you haven't checked them out yet, do so and tell me what you think. The more projects I do, the better my writing is going to get as I practice my skills. Also, I think the one-shots are pretty awesome, so there is that too ;)

Chapter Forty-Six

Gringott's is not the first place that comes to mind when you think, 'easy to rob'. It has thousands of different security systems, including live dragons, and you cannot obtain access to the interior of the building without passing the goblins on watch outside. The goblins on watch are trained rigorously to examine body language and anticipate criminal behavior.

Even if you do make it past the goblins, the open a safe you must have three forms of valid identification, a wand, and, for the more secure areas, a sample of your blood.

However, for all their security measures and reputation for absolute security, they had never bothered to spell the floor. They had the building, the walls, the safes, and even the dragons warded within an inch of the impossible, but no one had bothered with the floor.

This meant that, using Hermione's wand to channel Harry's considerable magic, they were able to burrow 500 feet below the building. Once they were sure that they were under the safes, recessed deep into the earth, they simply started to dig upwards.

The process took all day and part of the night to accomplish. After the first hour of hot, tense proximity, both of their tempers started to flare. By the time they reached the end of their digging expedition, both were positive that they despised each other. Stepping into the cool air of Gringott's lowest level cleared away their animosity.

Looking around at the rickety platforms soaring up high above their heads, they spied the occasional flickering light of someone paying a visit to the family vault. They started to look for Harry's.

It took them almost an hour to realize that they were searching the wrong side of the room. Annoyed, they switched to the other and found it almost immediately. A goblin in a cart rattled past them and they froze. The goblin would report them immediately to the nearest grunt. They had roughy…two minutes to get everything out.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Harry unlocked the door and closed it behind them, barricading them against the soon-to-be furious goblins. He frantically met Hermione's eyes and she shrugged.

"Don't look at me, this was your idea."

Something knocked on the door.

They both broke out in a cold sweat. Hermione started to wordlessly shrink everything in sight and gather it into tiny piles next to the bags meant for transporting things in and out. The knocking came again, faster and more impatient this time. Harry knelt on the floor and started to shove his property into the bags.

"Excuse me! Who is in there?"

Their eyes met, and Hermione mouthed, 'might as well'.

"Harry Potter is in here. I am, uh, examining my property."

The goblin was silent, and then it piped up, "Will Mr. Potter be withdrawing his things today? We would like to utilize your vault for new customers, and if your possessions are removed we will no longer need to dedicate resources to keeping the Ministry from seizing it."

Harry's mouth fell open. The goblins were…on his side?

It knocked again, "Mr. Potter?"

He stood and opened the vault, staring down at the crowd of goblins waiting outside, some of which were carrying pointy things made of metal. They stared back, unblinking and utterly serious.

"Uh, do I need to fill out any papers to close my account here?"

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Potter. We took the liberty of forging them for you last year, when you fell out of public favor."

"…Ah," they made it sound very clinical.

"Will you be needing any assistance today?"

He nodded, unable to speak. This was kind of mind-blowing. Why were they helping him? Was it because he had a lot of money? Maybe goblins were more kindly disposed to wealthy humans.

The goblin answered his question when he conversationally mentioned that they'd withdrawn a third of his cash as a fee for their services.

Before dawn peered over the edge of the horizon, all of his money and inherited stocks and bonds and property rights had been moved safely to his new account in the Swiss Alps Bank for Magicians.

He slept soundly that night, happy that, if he died in his attempt to reason with the Ministry his new will would leave the majority of his property to his friends. The remainder would be sent to a charity that was trying to end world hunger.

~000~

The British Ministry was harder to break into than the Brazilian equivalent. They finally had to kidnap a poor secretary as she went out for lunch. Dragging her into an alley, Harry let her see his face. She frowned, trying to recognize him, and then her eyes shot wide and she smiled behind his hand. Confident that she wouldn't scream and that Hermione's silencing spell would hold, he lifted his hand.

"You're Harry Potter! You're alive! Wow!"

He had to smile at her enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I'm still kicking. Hey listen, I need a favor."

She nodded seriously, "Anything you want."

Half an hour later they were waiting with the Minister's other appointments in the well-tailored waiting room. They read the Prophet and looked through the posh magazines about finances and what the international political situation looked like these days. There was even an article about the mysterious behavior of the Brazilian Prime Minister. Apparently, he'd tried to kill himself three times in the past week.

The other people in the room sent Harry disapproving looks for smoking and laughing when he read something funny, not noticing that he was the Boy Who Lived with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up.

Harry smirked to himself, feeling very self-satisfied. If he was asked to do an intervention for the man, he'd outright encourage him to take his own life. Lawrence was a scumbag.

The door opened and a man wearing a suit with robes over it exited. A secretary called out over the speakers, "Would the appointment for one thirty please come in? The Minister can see you now."

Hermione turned to Harry, "That's our cue. Are you ready for this?"

He nodded, standing and leaving the Prophet unfolded, "I'm readier than I've ever been."

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up from his morning's reports and gaped when he saw Harry Potter and Hermione Granger standing there just a foot from his desk. Harry leaned forward and tapped his cigarette into his tea.

"I…I…" he opened and closed his mouth, completely lost for words. He had only been elected six months ago, and was very unhappy about the situation that'd followed the war. He couldn't believe that Harry had gone absolutely off his nut, and had been devastated when the records of the Ministry claimed that he was dead. And now, here he was, standing in his office.

"I what?" Harry snapped, tossing his cigarette into the bin. Hermione sat in one of the visitor's chairs and crossed her legs. She pulled a nail file out of her bra and began to adjust her nails. Kingsley tore his eyes from her and back to Harry.

"I don't know what to say!" he laughed a little, standing, "I thought you were dead!"

Harry frowned, processing Kingsley's wide, honest eyes. His mind flashed to a sneaking suspicion he'd gotten while reading the news. The word 'recent' had been used more than once to describe the Minister…

"Wait, you mean you weren't part of the plot?"

Kingsley shrugged, "What plot? I'm just happy you're alive! I want to start repairing your reputation _immediately. _It's disgraceful that your name has been tarnished for so long, and through that your parents and Dumbledore. Albus doesn't deserve that done to his memory, not after everything he sacrificed."

Harry was granted an official pardon within the hour and a press meeting was scheduled to take place that afternoon so that there could be a special evening edition of the Prophet. As a gesture of good will, Harry donated several hundred thousand pounds to the restoration of the Ministry. The population was still crippled by the war, and there were a lot of widows and orphans that needed welfare checks to survive, especially now in the winter.

While they waited for their meeting with the press, Harry looked at some pamphlets for the Auror program to confirm that he had no desire to join it. It just wasn't right for him.

Hermione laid her head on his shoulder and sighed.

"This was easy."

He snorted, "I am not even going to call you on that jinx. We haven't even begun."

~000~

Jacob tried not to laugh. Leah was inches from his face, her face puffed up like a startled fish. He was smiling despite himself, and she stepped out of his personal space, satisfied. They were in her coffee shop, he trying to work on his homework and she doing inventory of her different blends and baking materials.

"There, that's better. Babe, I know you miss Harry, but you can't go around sulking all the time or your face will get stuck like that. And nobody wants to wake up to that in the morning, if you catch my meaning."

He stole a pastry and bit into it, not bothering to answer her.

"And you are going to pay for that, dick."

He shook his head and shoved the rest into his mouth, swallowing it in one go, "Nuh-uh. I have my special Pack Member discount, didn't you know? You gotta give it to me for free."

"Like hell I will! I'm telling Billy if you don't cough up that cash, mister."

He grinned and pulled out a five dollar bill. Just before he handed it to her, he licked the length of it.

"Eww!" she shrieked, accepting it between two fingers, "God, you're disgusting!"

Their play-fighting ended for a little while when they both concentrated on their respective tasks. After a few minutes, he could feel her watching him. With a sigh, he set down his pencil and looked her in the eye.

"What?"

"Something's different about you."

"You're crazy," he filled out a few more formulas into his quiz sheet and she slammed his book shut, "Hey! I was working on that! I'm trying to maintain my A-average this year, okay?"

"That can wait. Why aren't you upset?"

"About what? Harry?" he shook his head, "I am trying to deal with that, but I'm not a little kid who's going to collapse without him here to 'hold my hand'."

"That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about Bella the Bitch's wedding to the fanged douchebag. You seem almost…calm about it. You do shit for her because Charlie asked you to, which is cool and all, but I was kind of expecting you have some kind of break down by now," she pursed her lips, "I mean, isn't that what Bella does to you? Break you down?"

"She used to, but not anymore. She can never have that power over me again, though. I don't need her. The only person I need isn't here, but I tell myself that he will be again, hopefully soon, and then nothing else matters," he shrugged and went back to his school.

Leah looked thoughtfully out the window. She wondered when she was going to find her Imprint, the one person that made everything okay even when it wasn't. She could really use someone like that for when she was on her period.

The bell above the door tinkled and she looked over to see a young woman she'd never seen before standing there. She was a tiny thing, little more than a stick doll wrapped in a gray squirrel-fur coat. A long strand of blonde hair was sneaking out from under the hood of the coat. The doll stepped up to the counter and pointed at a donut.

"How much is that one?"

Jacob's head snapped around when he heard her accent. It was British. A pair of wide gray eyes met Leah's, and Leah felt her entire soul take a deep breath.

~000~

End chapter 46

Review if you like it. There isn't a button that will do that for you. You have to write me a note.


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter Forty-Seven

It was as if a crowd of banshees and harpies had been allowed to have an orgy, and their children were raised to loathe the very mention of Harry Potter's name. The amount of hatred rolling off the crowd of reporters was practically a physical sensation. Harry reeled a little from it, and found the strength to scowl at the few daring reporters who'd hissed at the sight of him.

Taking a deep breath, he locked eyes with the least threatening-looking reporter there and pointed at them,

"You get to go first. One question per reporter per round, so choose carefully; I am going to let each of you ask me a grand total of three questions, so I would start thinking really hard if I were you."

They seemed taken aback at this and he saw several opening their mouths to protest.

"Excuse me, but this will be an orderly event. Speaking while another reporter is speaking or at any other time than when you are asking your questions will result in one of your question opportunities being removed."

Teaching English had really helped him develop a real gift for managing people that might not want to be managed.

He looked at the reporter again, a young man in a tweed suit, and nodded, "Go ahead."

"Is it true that you plotted to blow up the Ministry?"

"Yes. Next question, please," he pointed at an older woman towards the back, "You, your turn."

"Why?"

"Because over half the Ministry's employees were death Eaters at the time, and a large number of Death eaters were being held here in cells, soon to be released because there are some crimes we don't have laws against. It would have been an acceptable loss. Next."

"Did you-"

The door burst open before she could finish. In a cloud of camera smoke, Rita Skeeter came stalking into the room. She elbowed a woman out of her seat in the front row and sat, somehow spreading her skinny body to take up three seats. Harry watched this dispassionately, a mantra telling him to remain calm and not tear her heart out of her chest for the years of libel she'd spread about him.

He turned his eyes back to the interrupted reporter and raised his eyebrows, "You were saying?"

"I…uh…oh, yeah, did you and Albus Dumbledore ever have…uh…relations?"

He felt sick knowing that people actually believed those rumors. Instead of vomiting, he plastered on a look of slight puzzlement, "I don't understand how that could have been physically possible, considering how elderly he was during the short time we were acquainted, previous to his death. Next."

It went on and on. He felt like he was in Hell, being slow-roasted with his worst memories and the most ridiculous of media rumors. He was asked about whether he'd slept with Hermione, whether he'd slept with Dumbledore, whether he'd slept with _Voldemort, _and dozens of other politicians he'd never even heard of, much less met!

So this was what the news wanted to know. He went into hiding, got pardoned, came back out, and people wanted to know about his sex life.

He was extremely tempted to just tell them the truth, that he was planning to spend the rest of his life glued to his boyfriend's side, married or unmarried, celibate or active. But he held back, and patiently answered all of their inane questions.

Just when he thought the meeting was finally over, Rita Skeeter piped up,

"Mr. Potter? Would you mind sharing just what you've been up to the past week?"

He frowned, mind flashing through the incidences in Brazil. She dipped her hands into her green alligator bag and removed a sheaf of what looked like pictures from his platform. She held them up, one of them depicting him in the act of strangling one of the traffickers.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is the man the Minister has pardoned! A murderer and a terrorist who cares nothing for the sanctity of human life!"

There was a collective gasp from the reporters, and Hermione gripped his hand tightly under the table. Aurors swarmed the room and started ushering everyone out, announcing loudly that the meeting was now closed.

Harry laid his head in his arms and held back sobs of frustration. Just when he started to even think about taking one step forward, he was thrown three steps back. He'd hit rock bottom so many times he was beginning to think of it as his second home.

~000~

The pit of Jacob's stomach felt weird. He was breaking out into a cold sweat, just like when he'd done something wrong and was about to be punished for it. But he hadn't screwed up lately. What was going on?

~000~

Laying in bed with a cold cloth over his face, Harry let himself moan at the misery of it all.

Kingsley was pacing his room, muttering possible solutions to this nightmare. Hermione was taking a long bath, and had taken an entire bottle of bourbon in with her, so he knew she wouldn't come out of there for hours.

Kingsley stopped muttering plans and started whispering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…"

Harry pulled the covers over his head and tried to make himself as small as possible. He was a grown man, fully capable of dealing with his problems, but right now he really wished he was a little kid that could just let somebody else deal with this.

"For fuck's sake, Harry, why did you have to go and kill them?"

He just groaned.

"I mean, I agree with what you were doing, but there are laws! There are things like ethics, like the golden rule! Sure, those guys were probably scumbags, but that _does not make it okay to slaughter them!"_

Harry pulled back the covers long enough to whisper, "I'm sorry! I didn't know what else to do! It seemed like the only solution at the time. All the other ways to fix the slave-trade thing would take at least a year to implement!"

Kingsley threw up his hands and flopped onto the bed. After a moment, he said, "Look, personally, I think what you did was justified. It should've been legal. But the fact is, it wasn't and now you're going to have to pay for that. If I want to stay in office, I have to retract my pardon of you. I can't protect you publicly, but if I tell the Aurors to make sure you 'escape' when they come to arrest you, consider it a gesture of my respect for you."

He shook his head, "No, I won't do it. I won't run again. I can't stand it, the feeling that I am just a hairs breadth away from being back under the thumb of the law. Isn't there some other way I can be punished for what I did other than the Dementor's kiss?"

Kingsley opened his mouth to say no, and then shut it. He stroked his lower lips, frowning with concentration, "Wait…wait…wait…"

Harry waited.

"Fines!"

He blinked and waited for Kinsley to explain.

"You could pay for the damages you inflicted and reimburse anyone who claims to have psychological damage from the stuff that went down. You could pay the hospital bills of everyone who ever got so much as a scratch around you, and you could pay welfare to the widows who might have lost husbands to the war on the other side."

Harry frowned and thought about it, "But…isn't that a lot of money? I mean, we are talking about practically the entire population here."

"I know, but right now that looks to be the more attractive option. How much did you inherit from your parents?"

Neurons fired in Harry's brain, clicking together some missing pieces. Scotland! Scotland owed him money for killing Voldemort! They'd made the mistake of actually putting up wanted posters for the disposal of the Dark Lord, offering a ridiculous sum of money in hopes of snaring some lucky idiot into doing the deed. And they never did pay him!

He grabbed Kingsley and kissed him.

"I think we can do this!"

~000~

Jacob suddenly growled for no particular reason at all, badly startling Billy. Billy laughed a moment later.

"What was that all about, son?"

"I don't know."

They went back to dinner and thought no more of it.

~000~

End chapter 47

Not as long as I wanted, but I am tired and pressed for time.


	48. Chapter 48

A/N: ARGH I HAVE NO TIME OR WILL TO UPDATE! And yet, here is an update. Miracles happen every day.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Two hours later the dignitary representing Scotland knocked on Harry's door. Hermione was still taking her never-ending bath, so he prayed that no one important had to go to the loo. Taking a breath to try and swallow his heart, which had leapt inconveniently into his throat, he opened the door.

A dapper little man in spectacles nodded once to him, flashed his I.D., and stepped inside.

They sat across from each other at the breakfast table, which afforded a nice view out of a magical window portraying butterfly-inhabited gardens as far as the eye could see. Lilac swayed in the wind alongside rhododendrons like in his garden back home in Washington (when did it become home?). He felt a feeling he'd never felt before, looking at those rhododendrons; homesickness.

"Mr. Potter, we did not expect to hear from you."

He nodded, "Yeah, I can understand why the whole 'dead' thing would throw you off the scent."

"Indeed. But now you want to collect what we acknowledge as your rightful property. I understand that you plan to use the funds to repair your reputation?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, "Where did you hear that? I discussed that not 3 hours ago."

"The walls have ears," he reached down and produced a brief case that Harry had not previously noticed. He laid it on the table in front of him, opened it, and turned it so that Harry could see the contents. There was a sheet of paper that worked as a sort of Wizard's check with the correct (immense) sum of money that was owed him written out on it. Next to it was a small black box made of shiny wood.

"Um..."

"Scotland is very grateful to you, Mr. Potter. As a token of our appreciation, we have included the chalice of good fortune. It has preserved our country through many a hard day and now you shall have use of it for the next six months, barring the Apocalypse. It will help."

His mouth worked. What did you say to a gift like that? Lifting the box out as gently as he could, he looked up and met the nameless man's eyes, "Thank you. I can't…I don't…I don't know what to say."

A small smile and a nod was all he got before the little man stood and left as suddenly as he'd come. Harry looked down at the check and then at the box. He looked around instinctively for a ladybug. Not finding one, he switched the clasp open and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in aged blue velvet, was a bottle no bigger than your standard bottle of Muggle nail varnish. The liquid inside was thin and faintly sparkly in the false daylight streaming through the window. He tapped the glass with his fingernail, bemused.

He could use all the good fortune he could get.

~000~

The next three months were spent in similar conditions of stress for both of the boys. Jacob helped Bella get her wedding into the final stages of planning and Harry started working on the legal processes involved in clearing his name. He managed to reveal that Rita Skeeter had obtained her photographs illegally and also her concealed Animagus form. Once that was done, things became much easier for him, especially after the other regular victims of Rita's slanderous journalism decided to band together in support of Harry's cause as a means of thanking him.

The money was steadily channeled into orphanages and homes for battered women, with a few high-profile demands from people such as Narcissa Malfoy. Some extra artifacts gleaned from his family's safe silenced her quickly enough, though.

For every case he settled and every day his ratings went up, he felt a little closer to going home to Jacob.

Jacob got his grades into such high form that he took his final exams early and started taking long-distance college courses in his core math and science education requirements through a community school. When it came time to graduate last month, the ceremony had been a mere formality for him.

He'd developed a sort of silent respect for Alice, who was the other big mover and shaker in the wedding business. Working with her for long enough eventually forced him to acknowledge that she was a genuinely caring person who wanted her friends and family to have a truly beautiful wedding that was close to perfect as possible. The other members of the wedding party didn't do much, and Edward and Bella were just too busy _being in love _to be useful for anything other than mooning into each other's eyes.

Alice's husband wasn't a bad guy either. He didn't snarl at Jacob like Edward did, and even laid his hand on his shoulder once and said something about understanding his pain.

He could only assume that he was referring to his dad, because there was no way the leech could know about Harry. Every day he thought about him, from the time he woke up to the time he went to bed. And even then he dreamed about him. He'd started writing letters, more like journal entries than anything else, of what he'd been up to since their involuntary separation. When Harry came back (he ignored the 'if'), he would give him all the letters in bulk. The one describing his high school graduation ceremony was five pages long.

Right now, there were no final wedding details to manage. Everything that could be done had been done, and there was nothing to do but wait. There was a bachelor party he was expected to attend tomorrow night, being one of the groomsmen. He wasn't sure how he felt about hanging out with a trio of vamps and some guy from Bella's school. It was bound to be awkward as hell.

Knowing that Bella was getting married in three days was getting to him. Making dinner for Billy, he wondered if he would ever have a commitment ceremony with Harry. Would that be stupid or weird? Or maybe they could get married for real in one of those countries that had it legalized for people of the same gender to have legal standing as a married couple. He closed his eyes and tried to picture it.

No luck. It was just too hard to imagine that far ahead, and not knowing when Harry would be back put a damper on things. He idly tore off a piece of bread and ate it.

Maybe he should start looking for a house. He'd convinced Billy that he could get his entire college education through distance courses, which wasn't hard to do because it was by far the cheapest option on the market. This meant that he had more flexible hours to work in the shop, which equaled more work he could take on. Their income had been steadily rising lately, and he knew Billy was happy with him.

There was genuine pride in his eyes when he looked at him, and that made him feel warm. He'd been paranoid for a while that imprinting on a guy had permanently altered his relationship with his father in a negative direction. He knew that wasn't true now.

Dinner was quiet that night, and Billy asked how things were going with the Pack.

Jacob shrugged, "I patrol."

"Sam tells me that you haven't been attending the meetings or the bonfires. Is something going on?"

He inhaled through his nose and set down his fork. He finished chewing his stew before replying, "You know damn well what's going on, dad."

Billy closed his eyes, "I thought you were past that. They accept it; isn't that enough for you?"

"No, dad, it's not enough for them to just 'put up with it'. Okay? They accept everyone else's imprints like family, and treat them like they actually matter to the whole Pack. But no one even makes eye contact with me whenever the subject comes up! I don't want to be around people that are judging me for something I not only can't control but don't want to."

"Jacob, give them a chance! It's a big adjustment for them, and it will take a while for everyone to warm up to the idea of you and…"

"And what? Another man? Being in love?" he stood, picking up their plates, "You know what, forget it. I have patrol in half an hour. I'll be in the shop until then, working on the books"

He put the dishes in the sink to soak and slammed the door behind him. Alone at the card table they used for a dining table, Billy sighed. Why couldn't he communicate that he would love Jacob no matter what he did, or how uncomfortable he might be? His love never altered, never dimmed. Jacob was a shining light in his life, and it hurt him to see how altered he was now without Harry in his life.

Funny as it was, Harry had been a good influence on Jacob. You could say that Harry was the one who made Jacob a man.

Turning on the TV, he hoped that Harry would return to them. He didn't want to see what Jacob would become without Harry there to guide him and give him the kind of love he needed so badly right now.

~000~

His predictions regarding the bachelor party turned out to be correct. The girls dashed off giggling in Alice's car, and the men were left staring awkwardly at the floor with their hands in their pockets.

They rented bad movies and ate junk food, as per Mike's idea, and somehow Jasper and Jacob ended up in the kitchen at the same time. Jasper was slipping his food into the garbage and Jake had gotten a glass of water. He didn't like soda much.

Jacob would've left without speaking to him, but Jasper spoke up before he could.

"Jacob?"

"Yeah?"

"Alice says…I mean, Harry will come back. Most likely soon."

Hope bloomed through him like a fire through dry wood. He felt like his feet had left the floor, and he could swear that there was a rushing sound of wind in his ears. The rain pattered against the windows, and Jasper actually smiled when Jacob turned to gape at him.

"I know you two will be very happy, and I wanted to wish you many happy regards."

"Thank-Thank you," his throat was dry and it came out as a croak. Jasper smiled again and went back to the living room with the rest of the groomsmen.

Jacob had to lean against the table and wait several minutes to get his breath back before he could follow him. Emmett also caught his eye as he was sitting and gave him a nod.

He barely noticed, still floating on helium. Pack approval or no Pack approval, Harry was coming home!

~000~

End chapter 48


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter Forty-Nine

It was done; completely finished, finally.

He stared out the window of the train, foot idly tapping out a rhythm to go with the rumbling of the wheels over the tracks. Hermione had remained in England, saying that she was going to get her life together and figure out how to live on her own again. Although he was happy for her, he asked Hamilton, an Auror he'd gotten friendly with, to check up on her every month or so as a favor.

Knowing that he was no longer a wanted man in the eyes of the Wizarding public was a relief greater than he could have anticipated. But the niggling though that all was not right with the Muggle authorities kept him awake at nights. He was going back to Washington now, taking the train instead of a plane for safety.

This wasn't what he wanted. He wanted there to be absolutely no chance of anything or anyone coming between him and Jacob again. There was no possibility of removing all obstacles, though. Someone somewhere would always try to come between them, be it homophobia, Jacob's stupid Pack, or the Muggle government.

Chewing on his knuckles, he fought back a wave of depression. His healing split-lip, a parting gift from Narcissa Malfoy, re-opened and started to sting

He didn't want to be thinking about this when he was re-united with Jake. He wanted to think about having a future together, maybe building a house as well as a new life side by side. Sure it was sappy, but he deserved some sappiness in his life after the kind of past he'd endured. He had been to hell and back so many times he could give directions to an idiot. That should be over now.

He wasn't so sure.

~000~

It was Saturday, full late summer sunlight pouring down through the skylights of the church onto the heads of the guests and the bridal party standing poised on the stage. You couldn't see it from inside the building, but a thunderstorm was gathering on the edges of the sunny sky, every gust of wind bringing it closer.

Jacob walked slowly down the aisle, Angela on his arm. She was walking a little faster than him, trying to keep up with his long legs as gracefully as possible. He shortened his strides out of sympathy and wondered yet again why he was doing this. Oh. Right, now he remembered. It was to make things easier for his father's best friend, a man who'd had a big hand in his becoming-a-man process.

He stood next to Jasper, breathing through his mouth so he didn't have to smell him, and watched Mike and Jessica come down the aisle. Standing across from him but one step higher, Alice smiled at her husband and then flicked her eyes to Jacob.

Her lips moved, and she mouthed, "He'll be here soon."

His chest tightened painfully and he turned away to look at the crowd instead of her. It made it easier to swallow the emotion strangling him. Leah was there, but she wasn't sitting with the Pack. She sat with Luna beside her, their hands clasped on the pew between them.

The Pack had been uneasy ever since Sam's authority was questioned, and had eventually started to splinter into groups of two or three. They still met once every week or so to organize patrol schedules and share any important news like who had imprinted on whom and special deals at the supermarket for food. Their large appetites made that information extremely useful to the Pack as a whole.

Jacob didn't know if they would all be on speaking terms five years from now, especially since the members who'd imprinted were withdrawing farther and farther, their attention fixed more on their mate and not maintaining a canine brotherhood.

They were saying their vows now, informal ones they'd written themselves. It was romantic, the idea of it, but the actual vows sounded more obsessive than loving and it made him feel a little bit sick. Bella was his friend once, before this fucked up thing with the Vampires happened, and he hated to see her sign away her life like this to someone who wasn't even human.

He bit his lip when he remembered that Edward could read minds. Bastard or no, he didn't want to ruin the guy's wedding day. A quick glance at Mike confirmed that the human was doing enough negativity for the both of them.

Getting bored, he cast his eyes out on the audience again and looked at Leah and Luna. She'd just walked into their lives that one day, suitcase in hand and rain in her hair, and she hadn't left yet. Leah wouldn't tell him if she'd imprinted on the girl yet, but he really hoped she would.

Luna was an old friend of Harry's, and apparently the cottage he'd been staying in belonged to her great-aunt, hence her sudden appearance in Washington. She was really weird (she ate cake for breakfast, and liked to take off her shirt when she got too hot) and could say some pretty strange things, but overall she was really nice too. Leah was getting nicer every day she spent with the blonde, and no one was complaining about her change in attitude.

She was still a foul-mouthed bitch, though. That part would never change, because if there was one thing about Leah that was stronger than her tongue, it was her backbone.

Leah was stroking Luna's hand, playing with the webbing between her fingers and twisting her many rings, turning them in the sunlight to admire their colors. Jealousy rose up in him like the sea, and he had to look away before his facial muscles reflected his opinions. It just wasn't fair!

The sunlight pouring through the skylights flickered, returned, and then disappeared completely as clouds covered up the last of the blue sky.

No one noticed. Bella and Edward were sealing their nuptials with a kiss that went on for rather longer than was proper, much to the amusement of Emmett and the more immature members of the audience.

Jacob permitted himself a smirk and waited for his turn to escort Angela down the aisle. Rain started to patter against the skylights and streak down the normal windows ranked along the sides of the building. He started like everyone else when the first flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a rumble of thunder that felt like an earthquake.

And somehow, in his gut, he knew that Harry was nearby.

~000~

The train was followed by a bus from La Push to some town barely 30-minutes walk from the Reservation. Harry thought nothing of this for the first part of the bus ride, but then the storm hit. Trees as tall as buildings bent nearly double under the onslaught of wind and vicious, freezing rain.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! He had to walk in _this?_ This was just unacceptable!

Grumbling, he stumbled through the darkening lanes after getting dropped off in the middle of nowhere by the damned bus. He lit a cigarette, protecting it as best as he could with his hands. It didn't do much good, and it soon became so soggy that it was ruined and he had to go without his nicotine. Lightning flashed crazily across the sky, and a tree was struck 30 feet from him, toppling over to block his path. He had to take ten-minute detour through the woods to get around it, a pleasant task that resulted in his boots becoming further caked with mud and the abomination spreading to his knees. He could feel the cold mud through the thick fabric of his work denims, his favorite traveling trousers, and wished dearly for a hot bath.

After he reunited with Jacob, that is. His stomach tensed and flexed, nerves shooting through it in patterns that mimicked the lightning above.

How would Jacob react to his sudden reappearance in his life? He would have graduated from high school by now. Was he at University? If so, was Harry now associated with his past life as a high-schooler and there shunned on a certain level? He hoped not.

On the other side of town, Jacob loosened his tie and flung it into the bushes without a second thought. His dad was catching a ride with Sam to the reception, and Jacob had excused himself from that by shrewdly pointing out that there was no sit-down dinner. No one would notice he was gone, and they'd already done all the pictures so no one could claim that he was remiss in his duties. He undid his cuffs, shrugging off his jacket before rolling up his sleeves to his elbows.

He was a little drunk from the punch, and feeling pissed off. He always felt pissed off when he drank, like the alcohol switched a flip inside him labeled 'violence'. Not the serous kind of violence. Just the kind of violence that made you pick a fight with a stranger on a Friday night, or your cousin just for the hell of it.

The rain soaked him to the bone a long time ago, but he didn't feel cold or uncomfortable. He felt…good. Kaleidoscopic reflections played in the river like streets. The tropical rainfall flooded gutters and basement alike. Jacob had never seen such a display of lightning. It reminded him of Harry.

Someone kicked a can ahead of him. Frowning, he looked up and stopped still when he saw someone coming towards him. They smelled familiar…

His body reacted before his mind could. His fist slammed into Harry's gut, frustration and months of pent-up loneliness overwhelming his gentler urges. Harry dropped to his knees, bent over his stomach to protect. Jacob aimed another shot, this time at his temple.

He was in for a surprise. He might have been bigger and stronger, but he didn't have the experience in war and back alley fights that Harry had.

Harry jerked to the side like a python, hopped to his feet, and landed a kick behind Jacob's legs that sent him stumbling back to crash against the sheet-metal side of the bar. Harry smirked and punched him in the chest, bony knuckles hitting that bone between his impressive pectorals. Jacob grunted and swiped at him with his palm, slapping him upside the head. It was a weak move, but if done hard enough it could make your opponent see stars.

The favor was returned in kind, but Jacob wasn't stunned by the head blow thanks to years of having Leah smacking the living daylights out of him every time her hormones shifted. Instead of persisting uselessly like another opponent might have, Harry hit him the most terrible blow to the groin Jacob had ever experienced. It knocked out all his breath, and made him fall over.

Harry then bent one of his legs back and sat on him.

The anger was draining out of him now that his cheek was pressed into the cold mud. There was a rock digging into his cheekbone, but he was too tired all of a sudden to be bothered enough to move. His brief hot flash of violent temper draining rapidly out of him, he blearily looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Harry grinning at him before he grabbed him by the back of his collar. Jerking him up, he mashed his mouth against his.

He felt the same fire he'd felt the first day he'd imprinted flare up again. He could feel it burning a crater in his chest, hotter than ever. This time it was fueled by more than the simple rudimentary love he'd first been struck with all those months ago. Now there were other emotions mixed in; frustration, anger, and loneliness were among the foremost. But beyond all of those, it was fueled by a sense of adoration.

He positively _adored _Harry. He loved him so much he couldn't stand it. It was so mind-blowing, so huge, and so intense, that it felt like he was branding iron into his skin even as he rolled onto his back beneath Harry. He slipped his fingers into his hair, feeling Harry slid down from his dominant position to lie on top of him.

It continued to rain, but neither noticed.

They had to stop eventually. It was night time now, and people were walking around the bar, talking and laughing. They stood together, Jacob's arm around Harry's shoulders, and walked to Jacob's house. Harry wanted to go to his cottage to unpack his things, but Jacob wouldn't let him. He argued that his house was closer and that Harry needed to get warm ASAP.

While Harry bathed, Jacob heated up some chili in the kitchen. He would much rather be with Harry in the bathroom but had been shooed out.

He was trying not to pout about this.

Warm hands slid around him from behind, and he felt Harry laid his cheek between his shoulder blades. The fire came back into his chest, and he grinned. Looking at their reflections in the window, he frowned when he saw what Harry was wearing.

"And just whose shirt do you think you're wearing? And so nonchalantly, too! You brought an entire suitcase of clothes with you- why do you feel the need to burglar mine?"

Harry lifted the front of the stolen shirt and sniffed it, "It smells like you."

Jacob grumbled but allowed him to slouch around in it.

It felt like old times now; bickering about stupid things, letting each other get away with stuff, and eating. He squeezed Harry's knee, and Harry smiled at him around a mouthful of chili. Swallowing, Jacob sidled closer, moving his entire chair. He slipped a hand around Harry's neck, and bent down to kiss him.

The door banged open and Leah charged in.

~000~

End chapter 49

Yes, they are finally together again! And yes, they had a fist fight. I'm not sure why I had them fight, but it seemed oddly in character. So it happened. Yay?

REVIEW IF YOU ARE HAPPY THEY ARE WITHIN FUCKING DISTANCE OF EACH OTHER. Come on, you know that it the real reason you guys wanted them to have a reunion. I can read y'all like a goddamn book, you batch of perverts.


	50. Chapter 50

A/N: It is chapter 50 already! Damn have I been writing this for a long, long time. Also, chapter 49 got the most reviews, individually, out of all the past chapters. Thank you so much, guys! Even if I don't have time to respond to everybody anymore, I appreciate them and get a good laugh from reading some of them.

Chapter Fifty

Jacob leaned back from Harry, frustrated. Glaring daggers at Leah, he yelled, "What the hell, Leah? Why you gotta block me all the time?"

Harry burst out laughing, and then stopped suddenly when he saw who'd slunk in behind Leah, unnoticed by Jacob. He stood so fast his chair toppled back; without looking, he reached back and caught it.

"Luna?"

She waved, a smile breaking over her face. Jacob had never seen her grin that wide except when he accidentally interrupted her and Leah flirting with each other (which was very disturbing!), "Hi Harry! I came to visit you, but you were gone!"

They rushed forward to hug each other, Leah meeting Jacob's eyes from opposite sides of the room. Leah raised her hands in a 'what the hell' move. He just rolled his eyes and mouthed, "Are you an idiot?"

"I'm so glad you're here! Were you hanging out with Leah without me?" he laughed, "She's _my _friend, you know. You can't hog her."

Leah held up her hand, "Okay, we are friends because you are Jake's imprint, but I don't know you that… well…"

Harry's insides squirmed when he realized what she must be doing. She tilted her head, pursed her lips, and then gave him a fish-eyed look, as if she'd never seen him before. Oh shit. She knew. She'd finally figured it out.

"You…" she pointed at him, "are…her?"

He coughed, "Um, yes?"

Needless to say, he was promptly slapped, shoved back into his chair, and forced to explain himself. It was a long hour, trying to untangle the bizarre events of the past years in a way that she could understand. Explaining this to Jacob had been easier- it had poured out of him naturally, and their strange connection made it so much easier for Jake to understand what he was trying to say.

Leah was a different fish, and it didn't help that she kept interrupting him and demanding to know if he was crazy. Luna piped up occasionally to fill in extra details that Harry forgot to mention, and Leah's expression got more and more stunned as he talked.

When he'd finished, she nodded, asked a final question or two, and then left. Luna went with her, sending Harry another smile before the door closed behind them.

Alone in the kitchen, Harry looked at his hands. Jacob laid his hand on his shoulder, got up, and cleared the dishes. While he washed them, Harry wondered how this was affecting Leah. Would she be completely weirded out now that she knew she'd been on a date with a guy in drag? He was weirded out just remembering the situation.

The dishes drying in their rack, Jacob came over and pulled Harry's chair out. He tried to ask what was going on, but Jacob just reached down and slung him over his shoulder. Harry tried to protest, but he gripped him firmly and went to his bedroom. Laying Harry on the bed, he retrieved a pair of sleep shorts and a t-shirt for him to sleep in.

Harry chose not to voice that he didn't intend to stay clothed for very long.

He helped Harry into the clothes and then laid down, rolling Harry on top of him since there was definitely no room for them to lay side-by-side. They didn't speak to each other, silence enough for them. Running his hands up and down Harry's back, he reveled in having him there all to himself. His hands roamed all the way down the his tailbone and then splayed over his backside, trailing down to stroke the soft skin of his upper thighs.

He wondered where his dad was, distantly, when Harry bent his head and started to kiss his face wherever he wanted. He twisted around, trying to catch him with his lips. Harry nipped his eyebrow instead, smiling.

"I'm happy to be here."

"Never leave again," He whispered, tensing his arm tightly around him, "I mean it. Please, don't. I barely handled having you away this time, and doing this again is just…I don't think I could."

"I won't. I promise," Harry kissed him, but then broke away to add, "That is, if the police don't find me."

Jacob's eyes widened, "Oh, shit. Why did I forget about them?"

Harry shook his head, smoothing a hand through Jake's hair, "Its okay. I forget about them too. Try not to think about it. I'll just dye my hair and keep on the low-low for the rest of my life. I don't like going out much anyway."

He pursed his lips, "I don't like you being wanted, guilty or not."

Harry swatted his shoulder, "Hey!"

Jacob just laughed and pulled a move that allowed him to get Harry under him. Reclining with one arm supporting him, he slipped the other up Harry's shirt, raising an eyebrow when Harry laughed.

"My ribs are ticklish," he explained, curving a hand over Jacob's hip, digging in his thumb, "God, your muscles got bigger. What have you been doing?"

"Whenever I got frustrated with something, I would do some push-ups or squats or something. It works like a charm."

Harry kissed him slowly, palm spread on his chest just on the place where Jacob could feel that burning heat radiating from his heart, "That must be why you're so sweet."

Jacob snorted, pulling away to wrinkle his nose, "Don't go all sappy Valentine on me! What happened to the bad-ass I know and reluctantly love?" He didn't give Harry a chance to answer, swooping down, careful to keep his weight off of him while he explored what he could reach of his neck. Under Harry's shirt, his hand slid under his back and levered Harry up closer so that he could tilt his head back and kiss the underside of his chin. Harry sighed through parted lips, angling his hips so that he could get a leg around Jacob's hips. Jacob helped and ran his palm down his thigh, surprised to find it hairless. He pulled away from Harry's neck to ask.

"I used the Nair before coming here, for old time's sake."

He laughed and burrowed his face into Harry's chest, the sensation of Harry's legs embracing his hips, his feet tucked into the curves of Jacob's calves, washing over him in a buttery wave of pleasure. He pushed Harry's shirt up and kissed his clavicle.

"I love you."

Harry scraped his nails along his scalp and responded in kind, lifting his hips to press against Jacob's. He got the message and helped Harry pull off his borrowed shirt. Harry tugged at the waist of Jacob's shorts and he obliged by getting up onto his knees and shimmying out of them, raising one leg at a time. He threw them across the room to land perfectly inside his laundry hamper. Harry smirked.

"Show-off."

He lasciviously ran his hands down his body, flipping his hair so that it hung over one shoulder, "I have plenty to show off, thank you very much."

He laughed and shook his head, kicking off his shorts, "Whatever you say. Just come back down here where I can get my hands on you."

Skin to skin, trying to fit together comfortably on a bed that was too small for them, they somehow found room. Jacob wasn't satisfied with just making out, and soon found himself fumbling around under the bed for his lube and his stash of condoms. Harry randomly jammed his heel into Jacob's kidneys, making him yell out in surprise.

"What the fuck?"

"You're taking too long to do so," Harry grabbed the lube out of his hands, "I'll do it. Put that on yourself, and be quick about it."

Jacob grinned, undoing the plastic covering on the condom, "You're demanding tonight."

"Like you're not?" he retorted, slicking up his hands. Without warning, he reached forward and pulled on him in several smooth movements that had Jacob breathless. Harry grinned and reached down to stretch himself out. Jacob stared, fascinated. They'd messed around plenty in the past, but they hadn't had a chance to really enjoy it on this level. Now they both knew what it was like to attempt life without the other, and both were grateful that that was over.

When Harry laid his hands on his hips, he snapped out of it and reached forward to grip the headboard for balance as he moved forward. Harry flexed one leg around him reassuringly, tilting his head back. He clenched his teeth, letting out a breath through his nose as his body accommodated Jacob.

"You alright?" Jacob whispered when he had finished his first thrust. Harry nodded, focusing on his breathing. He started to slide back out before coming forward again, this time about an inch more than the last. Harry grunted but otherwise showed no sign of discomfort.

It is all very well for the porn industry to talk about a man's groin size, but actually handling one is a whole different story.

Two thrusts more and he was settled in completely. He paused for a half-second to see if Harry was alright, and got a soft-eyed smile. Bending down, still holding onto the headboard, he pressed their mouths together.

It was easy to find a rhythm now, and he worked on synchronizing his movements with Harry's rolling hips. Harry held onto his shoulders, eyes squeezed tight. Jacob almost started to get worried about him until he heard him let out a muffled moan. With a grin he repeated the jab with his hips that had caused it and was rewarded with a louder version. Adjusting his rhythm, he started to slam into the area that gleaned the most verbal feedback.

Harry arched his back, made a keening noise, and started moving with him in earnest. His groin become slick with pre-cum, and Jacob reached down to stroke him when things started to get serious. His hips were barely under his control now, shifting and angling this way and that to try and coax Harry to an early orgasm. Harry's legs are squeezed tight around him, and soon he could feel his insides flexing and rolling in time.

He shouted when Harry squeezed him, hard. The headboard began to splinter under his grip, and the whole bed moved with every move of his hips. He was sweating now, fire from inside and out burning him. Harry's pleasured moans and sighs, punctuated with grunts, only added fuel to the fire. He could feel himself approaching that place that promised nirvana and he dragged himself back. Harry wasn't ready, and he wasn't going to beat him to the finish line.

Using his fingers, he pressed his thumb against Harry's perineum and wrapped the rest around the slick shaft. Keeping his thumb there tight, he squeezed and slowly dragged his hand up to the head, which he palmed and squeezed, flicking the slit with his pointer finger just as he pushed their hips tightly together. Harry let out a hoarse scream and bucked. His nails dug into his shoulders, and Jacob started to climb that heavenly hill again, this time with Harry in tow.

The bed slammed into the wall, leaving cracks in the cheap plaster, and he let out a sound like a wild animal before relinquishing all control. His body moved on its own, flexing and pulsing with pleasure he could see reflected back at him on Harry's face.

His body went limp after energetically flinging his soul into paradise and he fell on top of Harry. Harry grunted but didn't object, slowly letting his legs relax to lay splayed on either side of his boyfriend's body.

They slowly returned to normal breathing patterns, hammering hearts slowing and evening out.

Jacob sleepily kissed his neck, tasting sweat. Harry stroked his hair.

On the other side of the wall, Billy Black wondered how much it was going to cost him to have the wall repaired. Hopefully this wasn't going to become a regular occurrence, or he was going to have to send the boys out into the woods every time they had a hankering for this kind of thing.

Shaking his head, he went back to bed.

~000~

End chapter 50

And the reunion sex has occurred.


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter Fifty-One

The Pack filled the Black's house to the brim, their energy and body heat making it seem more crowded than it really was. They had gathered here in response to a mental signal sent out by Jacob. Enough food to feed fifty was laid out in the kitchen, half of it already devoured in the five minutes they'd been waiting for Jacob and his imprint to join them.

Jacob called them together because Harry was back now, and he was tired of silence. If they really didn't like that he was gay now and happy like that, then he wanted it to be official. He would leave the Pack if they said that they couldn't accept him without judgment.

Palms sweating, he tried to slow his breathing down before going inside. Harry reached over and caught the waist of his jeans, stopping him. he looked at him, wondering what was wrong, and got only a wink.

"Hey, no matter what happens in there, you still have me. Focus on that."

Jacob nodded, sucking in another deep breath and slowly letting it out as he opened the door.

Leah sarcastically applauded, getting a scandalized look from Seth. She ignored him and snapped, "Thanks for finally joining us, Jake! How long were you intending to stand out on the doorstep, making the rest of us wait for you?"

He grinned, not rising to her insults. Instead he retorted, "Where's Luna? Did she get tired of you already?"

"Shut up, dick!"

Harry watched this dispassionately from the kitchen doorway, as far from the Pack as he could get while still being present in the meeting. The wolf sitting nearest to him kept sending him little glances out of the corner of his eye, which Harry ignored. He had eyes only for his boyfriend. He tried to somehow psychically project his support with his eyes, wanting Jacob to know that he knew how hard this was for him and that he would always support him.

Meanwhile, their little tiff had caught the attention of the Pack, and Jacob briefly wondered if maybe he should have made this a joint thing with Leah. He didn't know whether or not she'd imprinted on Harry's weird friend, but Leah seemed pretty serious about her; which made him wonder why she was no longer on speaking terms with that ex-priest, Martin. Ah, the mysteries of Leah's personal life. He would have to corner her and get caught up later.

He grounded himself in the present and cleared his throat. Stepping into the open space between the couch and chairs filled with his Pack mates, he first met Sam's eyes.

"Sam, you are our default leader. Not because you are the strongest or even because we respect you, because quite frankly you suck as an Alpha. But! You were the first, and you guided each of us through our 'change' and taught us how to control ourselves. We all have a special bond with you because of that experience and the wisdom you shared. For that, I am grateful," he moved his eyes to the rest of the Pack, particularly his old friends who had drifted away from him slowly over the past year, "The rest of you have become more than fellow Quileutes to me- you are my family, my Pack. I love each and every one of you for being exactly who you are."

Some of them blushed, embarrassed at his honest affection, and others avoided his eyes with shame. Leah did neither, offering a bold smile that showed that his feelings were reciprocated in full.

"Despite my love and respect for all of you, you don't return the favor. Sam, I know you are outright hostile to my union with Harry. Don't think my father doesn't tell me what you say at your meetings with the Elders. It hurts me deeply to know that you hold opinions that are misjudged and ill-thought through. I love Harry and that can't change, even if I wanted it to. I doubt that, even if I was still human, that I could stop loving Harry. The rest of you think I don't hear your murmurs, or maybe you are aware that I can hear every snide comment. I'm also not blind to the contempt you look at me with the few times you've seen me the past few months."

He took a strained breath, feeling emotions surging through him. He waited until he was under control again before continuing with, "And that is why you're here today. You don't love or respect me now because of the love I have for someone who happens to be the same sex as me. This is something that I cannot change, and I will make no move to hide it from any of you. So I have a question: could you ever change your minds, and accept me and my chosen partner? Before you answer, please understand that, should your answer be 'no' in any measure, I will leave. I don't know where I will go yet, maybe to England, but you will never purposefully see me again."

No one would look him in the eye, and he saw Leah's lips start to thin. She knew that their decision regarding Jacob would also apply to her. She swallowed, eyes watering. He sent her his sympathies through the faint link they shared while human, and she gave him a weak smile.

"Its okay- you guys should think about this for a while. If you want, I can go out and run some errands for maybe an hour while you guys discuss it?"

Sam nodded, "That's a good idea. This is a serious decision you're asking us to make."

"I know. Harry, let's go."

They went out to the Rabbit and just sat in the cab without moving for a full five minutes. Harry just laid his hand over Jacob's on the seat, tangling their pinkies. Finally, Jacob took away his hand so that he could operate the stick shift. They still kept silent, hearts blocking their throats.

What the Pack decided wouldn't be as big a change for Harry, since the only place he'd ever considered a home for more than 2 years was Hogwarts and he was used to moving around, but Jacob…Jacob had lived on the Reservation, surrounded by his people and their traditions, for his whole life. For Jacob to leave all that behind, and for Harry's sake as much as his own, was overwhelming.

At the supermarket, they moved slowly through the shelves, their sides glued together. Harry kept his head tucked into the crook of Jacob's shoulder, and Jacob kept his arm around him while carrying the grocery basket in his other hand.

They bought toilet paper, dry-erase markers, cigarettes for Harry, and a packet of gum for Jacob.

Under the wide awning that surrounded the store, Harry lit up and sat on the bench set up between the potted flower selections. Jacob sat beside him and slouched until he could twist his body around and lay his head in Harry's lap. Harry stroked and tugged at his hair with his free hand, looking out at the rain streaking down from the sky in great torrents and forming streams in the parking lot.

Harry smoked half his pack of cigarettes. He spoke once during the half an hour they sat there.

"I love you."

Jacob swallowed and turned his body to bury his face in Harry's stomach, through his damp sweatshirt. He didn't have to say it back for Harry to know that he felt the same way. How couldn't he, when he was willing to give up everything for him?

They drove back and entered the house without knocking to announce themselves. The food was all gone now, and Seth was eating an old peach at the kitchen table, using a paring knife. He stood when Harry and Jacob came in, dripping with rain. Jacob nodded to him and set the shopping bag on the table.

Everyone looked up when they entered the living room together. Jacob knew what they'd decided before Sam, their spokesman, even opened his mouth.

"We…"

"I'll go pack."

Sam lowered his head and put it in his hands while Jacob stalked out of the room. Leah stood, looked around with the most vulnerable expression that Harry had ever seen on her face, and whispered,

"If he goes, then I have to as well."

Seth flinched, but no one else objected. She set her jaw, held her head high, and left. She slammed the door behind her. Left alone with the Pack, Harry nodded awkwardly in greeting before asking if anyone needed anything to drink. When they'd responded to the negative, he went to join Jacob in his room.

He could hear them getting up and dispersing.

Jacob already had all of his clothes packed up in a duffel bag when Harry pushed open his door. He was holding one of his old toys, a stuffed dinosaur. On the bed beside him was what Harry assumed had been kept under his bed and in his nightstand. There was a box, open, with a stick stack of what looked like letters in it. Laid on top of them was a dried flower. Coming closer, Harry it recognized it as one from a potted plant he'd failed to shoplift when he first arrived in Washington. His eyes widened when he saw that his name was written on the letters. They were to him.

He sat down next to Jacob and gently asked if the letters were for him. Jacob nodded, reaching out to drag Harry into his arms. Harry sat on his lap and just wrapped his arms around his neck while Jacob softly cried into his collar.

~000~

End chapter 51

Sorry it's short, but stuff happened anyway. I'm also sorry that this one isn't as jolly, but homophobia isn't a jolly concept.


	52. Chapter 52

A/N: Because I am super competitive with myself, I have been betting since the beginning of this project that Please Say Something will get more reviews than Dark Clouds. So far this has not happened :/ However, PSS does have over 1300 reviews, which is amazing! So…consolation prize, I guess.

Chapter Fifty-Two

They sat together for hours before Harry felt Jacob droop, slipping into sleep. He moved the packed duffel bag off the bed and guided Jacob into a reclining position, adjusting the pillow so that it was beneath his head completely. He could see his tear tracks gleaming in the light from the hall, and swallowed a helpless sound. Quietly, he took off his shoes and lay down on top of him. Turning his head and pressing his ear to his boyfriend's chest, he listened to his heartbeat until he fell asleep.

The sunlight the next morning was staringly white as it poured through the uncovered window. Harry blinked into awareness, smacking his lips. Jacob was still asleep, so he took the opportunity to read some of the letters Jake had written to him in his absence. They were like a private diary, detailing his dealings with the Pack, his studies, and what he titled Bitch Bella's Fucking Wedding Preparations. He was interested to see some positive notes about Alice Cullen, the Vampiress.

At least Jake had found someone other than Leah who behaved half-way decently to him.

Jacob stirred, fists clenching and unclenching. Harry reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead. He opened his eyes slowly and smiled at him. It clouded after a moment, though, and Harry could tell that he'd remembered the events of yesterday. He pressed his lips together and then asked,

"So, are we moving to England or would you like to go somewhere completely different?"

He shrugged, "I don't even fucking care; just…away from here. Is there anyplace you want to go?"

"Well, I have to give Bronwyn a week's notice before I leave her house so she can find someone to take care of Deedee, which I failed to do before. I'm sure the fairies took care of it, though…" he trailed off, thinking of how lovely it would be if the demonic cockatiel bastard had died of cold or starvation while he was gone. Somehow he didn't think so.

"Then I guess I'm living with you for the next week. The cottage is outside of Reservation boundaries, so I can stay with you and not hear any lip from anyone."

Harry smirked and ran his hand down Jacob's chest, "I don't think I'll mind having you as a room mate. For one, we can sleep next to each other instead of on top of each other. I can cook for you in the mornings; we could spend all the time 'together' we want, maybe even with the door unlocked. There won't be anyone to object…"

A shy smile glowed across his lips and he grabbed Harry's hand, bringing it to his lips for moments before getting up to take a shower. Harry joined him a few minutes later, after he finished reading the letters. On the back of the final letter, he wrote,

_I love you too_

~000~

Billy was solemn at breakfast. They knew that Sam had already informed him and the Elders of the situation, so there was no need for Jacob to explain. Half-way through his second cup of coffee, he gruffly said,

"If I wasn't a cripple, none of those boys would be able to transform again."

Harry choked on his toast and then grinned, "You're a real father, Billy."

Billy nodded at him, "Thank you son; Jake, I've made arrangements with Seth Clearwater- now that his sister is leaving too, he doesn't have anybody to live with either. We'll take care of each other. I don't want you to feel guilty about leaving like this; it's not your fault, and I am proud of you for forcing them to be honest with you, despite the outcome."

Jacob nodded, "Thanks dad. I'll visit, but we'll probably have to meet somewhere other than here. I don't want to risk meeting any of the old crowd."

Breakfast was finished without further talk about it, and Billy saw them to the door. Billy hugged his dad and Harry smiled when Billy handed him a rolled piece of paper. Walking out to the Rabbit, he waited until Jake was distracted getting it started and packing his things before unrolling the paper. It said

_Harry_

_I don't hate you for being part of why Jake has to leave._

_Take care of him, and I know you'll make sure he's loved._

_Billy_

He smiled and tucked it into his pocket. He didn't know what he'd do if Billy hated him for what happened. It was stupid and he hated that the Pack couldn't get over their differences, but somehow he knew that this was bound to happen one way or another. Jacob wasn't like the other guys here. He had dreams, a bigger perspective: one that stretched beyond the borders of the Reservation. It was sad that it had to happen this way, but maybe this was the only way the umbilical cord could be cut.

He just hoped this didn't scar Jacob forever.

The cottage appeared, at first glance, to have been un-tampered with. But as they walked up the front steps, he could see that the welcome mat was slightly askew. Frowning, he unlocked the door and slowly stepped inside. Jake copied him and tried not to step too heavily.

There was the smell of something suspiciously similar to chicken soup, and he could see the pot on the stove. Just as he was reaching for a knife from the block, Luna appeared at the foot of the stairs with a 'crack!'

Jacob leapt back, letting out a yell. Harry laid his hand on his arm, reassuring, "Its okay; that was just a magical way of getting around really quick."

He nodded shakily, eyes still practically popping out of their sockets. In the mean time Leah had descended the stairs the normal way and draped an arm around Luna. She raised her eyebrows when Harry gave her an accusing look.

"What are _you _looking at, Harry?"

He gesticulated wildly at them, "YOU! Why are you in my house, without my permission?"

Luna raised her hand, "This is technically my great-aunt's house, and she told me I could visit it any time I wanted to. I brought Leah with me because she said she didn't have anywhere else to go, which is silly because her house didn't burn down or break or anything."

He sighed, "Fine. You guys can stay here. But don't you dare wake me up early or complain if you walk in on something that you didn't want to see. I'm not locking any doors for your sakes."

Leah shrugged, "I've seen Jake naked enough times to last me a life time, and I don't think I'd mind seeing the real body behind Velma without clothes a few times."

He groaned and stirred the soup for lack of any other way to break the awkwardness. Jacob shuffled his feet and then went down to the cellar. When he came back, he had a bottle of wine. Opening it, he poured himself a cup and sat on the counter to watch Harry salt the soup.

Leah grabbed his glass when he was done taking his first sip and finished it off.

"Hey!"

She stuck out her tongue, handed it back to him, and sauntered off towards the couch. Luna followed a moment later after getting a separate glass for herself and filling it. The boys had the kitchen to themselves.

Jacob reached over and ran his hand through Harry's thick hair. Harry smiled at him and rolled his eyes, "So much for alone time. Don't worry though. I'll give my notice to Bronwyn and we'll figure out where we're going to live."

Over dinner, Luna asked, "Harry, why don't you use magic?"

"Because I don't have a wand; and no, I don't want one. I mean, what would I use it for? Doing the dishes?"

She nodded, "I see your point. I was just wondering."

They finished up without really saying anything else of interest.

The next week was spent poring over books about travel and maps when the girls where in the house, and pawing at each other when they were not. Despite Harry's threat about not sparing them their sex life, he didn't actually follow through with it. It was just too awkward, especially with Luna around.

Sprawled on the floor of their room, they finalized their plans to go to Canada. They didn't care what part initially, and planned to move as nomads through the unpopulated sections. Finally Harry pointed out that Nunavut was their best bet by far, and Jacob didn't object after hearing his arguments about how it was the biggest and least populated part of Canada.

The remoteness of the location would cement Harry's safety from discovery by the Muggle authorities.

On their second to last night in the United States, Jake snuck out to have some alone time with his father in La Push. The girls also chose to have a date night, which left Harry alone. Well, not exactly alone because the fairies were still around and Deedee was being evil somewhere nearby.

He didn't feel like drinking, and he'd already finished his book that day and didn't want to start another one so soon. Martin wasn't even an option, thanks to a lunch date last Wednesday in which the ex-priest revealed that he was moving to Africa to teach English to impoverished children. When asked what his motives for this were, he said that he wanted to get out of Washington and do something useful with his life.

Harry eventually squeezed out of him that the reason things didn't work out with him and Leah was that she said he wasn't ambitious enough. And he was a man. The latter was more of an issue than the former.

Smirking at the memory, he contemplatively eyed the little cottage and decided to spend his time scrubbing the stairs.

Oh god. He was turning into a house wife.

Jacob came back when Harry was scrubbing the stairs to a greasy polish amid soap and steam. He snorted, amused, but complimented him on the state of the house. They'd been getting sloppy, and it was about time somebody cleaned up. Harry saluted him with his bristle brush and replied, "Cheers," when Jacob complimented him on the cleanliness of the steps.

Without warning, Jacob scaled the steps and jumped on top of him. They tussled playfully on the landing and the bucket got knocked onto its side, soaking the stairs and forming at puddle at the bottom. Harry got up onto his elbow arms and frowned down at it.

"Whoops."

Jacob smiled and laid his head on his lap, "Do you want to go out to dinner tomorrow night, to celebrate getting out of this town? It might be our last chance to see civilization for a long, long time."

Harry slapped his ear, "Hey, don't be mean to the Canadians. And sure, I think that's a great idea. Let's go for Italian."

Their moment was ruined by Leah bursting into view with Luna wrapped around her neck. She gave them a salacious smile, swept the blonde into her arms, and trudged past them. Harry made a gagging face at Jacob.

~000~

They ate at the same restaurant Harry had that fateful date with Leah, in the guise of the haplessly frumpy Velma. It all seemed so long ago now, and very ridiculous. He wondered how Martin was doing. Probably packing for Africa, knowing his plans; what kind of person just decides to quit their day job and go to Africa on a whim? Priests, apparently.

He looked down at his wine, fighting back a sudden wave of emotion. Everyone was moving away, separating and going different directions. It was like the first few months post-war all over again, except nobody had died.

Jacob held his hand, not asking what the matter was but sensing that something was wrong. His ability to sense Harry's moods was both a good and bad thing; on the one hand, he never had to ask him how he was feeling, but on the other he didn't know what to do when Harry was upset.

Harry got his nostalgia under control and smiled at him, withdrawing his hand so that he could look at the menu. He settled his leg against Jacob's under the table, though.

"I think I'm addicted to fine food, particularly Italian," Harry said conversationally, looking up from his menu and meeting Jacob's eyes. Jacob grinned and replied,

"I noticed. I think it's because you don't like 'weak food'. And I know you buy goat cheese because it has an 'opinionated taste'."

He opened his mouth to object before realizing it was true. He didn't like food that was flavorless or diet-friendly. He shrugged.

"What can I say? I savor food, and I intend to teach you how to appreciate it. You can't always stuff your face, hungry or not."

Jacob feigned insult, "Are you saying you don't like the way I eat? Oh my god, are you calling me rude?"

They were interrupted by their waitress, who did a double-take when she saw Harry. He avoided her eyes and hurriedly gave her his order. Shit! It was the same one who had serviced him and Leah the last time he was here. He whispered the situation to Jacob, who laughed loudly. A woman sitting adjacent to them looked over disapprovingly but quickly looked away when she saw their feet resting side by side beneath the table. Harry glared at her back.

When the food arrived, they both ate massive amounts (despite any prissy arguments to the contrary Harry might have made), and their chatter got louder as they ate. The volume increased further when Harry began to drink his wine. He snuck sips to Jacob when no one was looking.

They discussed, for the first time, their views on gay culture.

Harry was upset about the views most gays take of themselves. "They try to strip their lifestyle of its 'sin' and darkness, and end up taking away its appeal in the process! No matter what they say, being gay is not at all like being straight. And the sex is certainly not just as clean and legitimate as straight sex. It's unhealthy and sometimes perverted, and that is the whole point!"

Jacob tried not to laugh, but he had to agree. Eating fecal matter was not his cup of tea either. Harry then went on to deride the queens and their bizarre search for femininity without going the whole mile and just getting a sex movement, and then the Gay Liberation movement for trying to change people's minds about something that has always gotten a mixed reaction.

"Oh and another thing: I believe that there is any point in educating children about LGBT. They need to find that for themselves."

That one surprised Jacob. "Why? Don't kids have the right to know what options they have besides being straight?"

Harry took a sip of wine before replying, "Oh, I don't believe they should have sex education at all, gay, straight, or whatever. That's private, and parents should be the ones to tell their kids that. They certainly shouldn't be lumped into a room with 20 of their peers and shown how to apply a condom to a banana and graphic slides of syphilis. I would die of embarrassment!"

Jacob did a face-palm but couldn't help but agree with him. He didn't learn anything new that was necessary in Sex Ed and really could've done without knowing some of the things that didn't apply to him. His dad gave him the talk when he was twelve, and that was enough for him. It wasn't until he was with Harry that he felt the need to do any research into enhancing their sex life, but he'd already figured out the basics long before that. Like it is imprinted in a bird's intrinsic code how to fly south, how to have sex is also imprinted in a human's code. It stood to reason.

Knowing that Harry was getting tipsy and wouldn't judge him if he disagreed with him, he said, "Why do gays have to be out there shoving themselves into the public eye, trying to convince the world that they are special? Why all this fuss about their life style? If they are being attacked, that is one thing. But you can't force people to accept you; you have to just _be there _until it happens naturally. And why can't they just go and live together, and shut up about it? If they want the tax benefits of a legally-acknowledged marriage, why are they living in this country where that hasn't been made legal yet?"

Harry grinned and leaned forward to tap his nose, "Exactly my point. I have no interest in watching a pride parade or glimpsing a man in a gold thong. The only person I have any interest in is you. We can make our own gay culture, together, where the possibility of going to a gay club does not exist."

And with that, Harry got up to use the restroom. Off he went, rather unsteadily, and when people at other tables stared at him, he gave them a beaming smile so unctuous that they looked away.

When he came back, Jacob had paid the check. He helped Harry into his raincoat and escorted him out the Rabbit with their arms linked together. Harry snuggled into his chest while he warmed up the car, and he kissed his forehead.

The next morning, while packing, Harry paused and took a deep breath.

"Jake?"

"Yeah?" he turned with raised eyebrows to see Harry looking down at a pair of their socks that had been somehow mismatched so that one of Harry's was folded with one of Jacob's.

"Gay marriage is legal in Canada."

His heart leapt into his throat and began to beat so loudly in his ears that he could barely hear what Harry said next.

"Will you marry me? Please?"

All he could do was nod before he grabbed him, a palm on either side of his head, and kissed him. The fire was back in his chest and he thought he was going to die of happiness.

When they broke away, Harry's usual Mephistophelian smile had faded away in the light of boyish joy, and he clutched at Jacob's shoulders, standing on his toes and curling close. Sitting on the bed beside each other later, Jacob whispered,

"Do you really love me?"

"Don't be stupid. You are my darling: difficult, morose, but my darling."

After a long farewell from Leah and Luna (who were staying indefinitely in the cottage), they made their way to the airport.

Four hours later, they were on their flight to Canada. They kept their hands entwined the entire flight.

~000~

End chapter 52

End Please Say Something

There will be an epilogue set roughly a year later, but this is the end of the main story. Review any plot points I may have dropped, please, so I can attend to those in the next installment.


	53. Chapter 53

A/N: This is the last you guys will see of this story. I will miss it too, but please no tears. You will ruin my silk shirt. Hey! You! I see you tearing up, and I am telling you to stop that right now.

Nah, I love you guys. You can cry if you want. Lord knows I don't have no money for silk shirts. All my money goes to the liquor fund…

Epilogue

A year had passed since that rushed day in the judge's office when they exchanged simple gold bands and become husband and husband. Their only guests had been Jacob's family (which included Charlie Swan), Seth and Leah, and Luna and Hermione. Neville showed up after the ceremony, his delayed flight having prevented him from being there for the ceremony. To everyone's relief, Hermione and Neville were pleasant enough to each other.

No one bothered to get dressed up, which both grooms were grateful for. Their life-long hatred of formal wear didn't change on their wedding day, so both were happy to be free to not don a tuxedo.

But now it was their anniversary, and Harry had promised that, "This will be a night to remember, with lights on the dimmers and dripsy violins just out of sight."

Jacob was ready to be romanced, but Harry was making them late. He checked his watch and groaned. They were over an hour late for their Reservation.

"Come on! Don't you have any human decency?"

Harry paused in buttoning his shirt and raised an eyebrow, retorting, "If you would kindly show me a human, I might."

Finally dressed, he led the way to the door. They were staying in a hotel in Toronto for the week, leaving their house in the capable hands of Luna and Leah. Harry had warned them before leaving that he would track them down and murder them with his bare hands if he found any sign of them having sex in their room. Leah gave him her scout's honor, but he didn't trust that.

In the elevator, Harry noticed that Jacob was sulking. He sighed.

"Do you still love me?"

Jacob grunted an affirmative but still wouldn't look at him.

"Oh come on. When it comes to relationships, I'm a bargain. I have my faults, but think about how much worse it could be!"

"You're not much of a bargain. You're conceited and thoughtless and messy. And you snore!"

Harry gaped at him, "You bastard! I most certainly do _not _snore! Besides, you're the one who steals all the covers."

He just laughed, obviously cheered up now, and changed the subject. "Hey, remember when Charlie tried to convince us to let Bella and fucking Edward come to our wedding? Do you remember what you said?"

Harry frowned, trying to remember. He gave up, "No, I don't recall. Why?"

Jacob tried to tell him, laughed, and had to try again, "You said…well, you yelled, 'I don't want that bogus sniggering son of a whore _Cullen_ to ruin _our _goddamn wedding!'"

"What? I did not!"

"And then there was that part during the reception. You got really drunk and then started bemoaning the blatant illiteracy of your ex-students, right in front of Seth."

Harry huffed, "And then you were very mean to me."

"I was not mean! I just pointed out that when you sink into self-pity, it's time for me to take you home. And then I kindly offered to drive you and you turned me down with some bullshit excuse."

"It was not bullshit! I made a very valid point. I said that I would prefer not to be driven by you because the last time you drove me home we were stopped by a policeman."

Jacob flapped a hand, stepping out of the elevator and taking Harry's arm in his. They called a taxi outside, and once inside he continued their conversation.

"Oh please Harry. Don't be so dramatic. He was just being officious."

"And then when you arrived at our house you honked the horn derisively to wake the landlady!"

He crossed his arms, though obviously still amused, "I like that! Who was falling asleep when my dad was talking to you?"

Harry, with careful dignity, turned his nose up, "I believe that I politely took my leave, followed closely by _you, _my baby-fresh husband, shouting incoherent abuse at me for the entire world to hear."

Jacob chuckled, "That was pretty funny."

Harry huffed, "Was not. I am still embarrassed about that."

They ate at a stupidly expensive French restaurant (they were glared at by the hostess for being late), drank two bottles of wine, and ended up thinking it was a good idea to walk back to their hotel room instead of calling a cab. Stumbling along, Harry noticed that Jacob was getting emotional about their anniversary.

"Stop being such a fag Jake!" He ordered, jabbing him in the ribs with his bony fingers. Jacob just stared at him and Harry wiggled his eyebrows. He snorted and shoved Harry into the wall. Harry kicked him in the shin. Jacob tried to get him into a headlock but Harry was too quick and slipped away. Jumping on and dodging each other, Jacob spoke up.

"Hey, remember when we ended up at Bella's anniversary to make my dad happy?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Yes, of course I remember. It was only two months ago!"

He side-stepped a grab at his hips, danced a few steps ahead of Jacob, and then narrowly missed a tumble into a pothole.

Jacob grinned and reached out to flick his ear, "Well, remember when you whispered something funny about how fat Bella's ass was getting? And I cracked up right when Edward was repeating his wedding vows and everyone glared at us? That was _so _funny."

"I love you too, babe," Harry replied, laughing. Grabbing him by the collar of his coat, he brought him down for a sloppy kiss. They stood there and just enjoyed each other for several minutes, too drunk to care about being in public.

Their keycard gave them some trouble when they finally made it back to their hotel room. Fumbling around, he finally made it work. When the door opened, Jacob shoved Harry inside and then trapped him against the wall. He bent his head to kiss his neck but stopped when he smelled something funny. Harry was tense, staring at something over his shoulder.

Turning around slowly, he found a full team of Canadian officers with their weapons trained on them.

"Put your hands up, Ludwig Brink!"

Harry groaned. He should've known the Muggles would catch up to him eventually. He raised his hands and followed all of the man's commands, getting on his knees and letting an officer cuff him. He didn't want to aggravate them and accidentally cause anyone to fire a weapon. If Jacob was hurt, he would never forgive himself.

Cheek pressed to the ground while a vehicle was on the way, he met his husband's eyes. Jacob was barely containing his fury, and his pupils were switching eerily between wolf and human.

Noticing Harry, he seemed to regain his control and his eyes went back to normal. Harry smiled wanly.

The Potter luck had struck again.

~000~

After being deported, Jacob kept with him as an 'accessory' to his so-called crimes; he was accused of murder and convicted yet again in court. He was sentenced for life in prison without the possibility of bail, and Jacob was given 10 years with the possibility of parole.

He lasted a week in prison before his magic exploded in his chest and sent him into a coma. While in Canada, any time he felt it start to build, he could go out into the woods or some other remote area and just let it fly out of him. But there was no such chance of this in prison, so he really should have been expecting this.

Kept in a hospital for two days, his magic took his future into its ghostly hands. It created an illusion. On the third day Harry's heart stopped and his brain waves seemed to be distorted and directionless before dying away completely. To the Muggle's medical apparatus, he was dead.

His body was taken to the morgue, examined for the cause of death, and pronounced a mystery. He was placed inside a cremation oven and left alone to burn. No one noticed his body vanish into thin air, but they did notice Jacob Black disappear around a corner of the exercise lot a week later.

Jacob Black was never seen again, and eventually the search had to be called off.

~000~

The Cullens never did find out what had killed Victoria and her followers. The Pack stopped looking eventually and just lazily patrolled their borders to make sure no one suspicious was trying to get across.

~000~

Sprawled on the beach of Hanakapiai, Hawaii, feeling the surf covering and uncovering his calves, Harry passed the sunscreen to Jacob. The sun shone brightly down on them from a glowing blue sky. White streaks of clouds just within the horizon adding interest to the view. A warm breeze ruffled their hair and the grasses as Jacob bent over to kiss Harry.

~000~

End Please Say Something

A/N: Hey, um, guys, there won't be a sequel. I just don't have the energy, time, or inspiration for anything else. I mean it. Don't beg me, because I won't take pity on you.


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